Don't Wear It Out

My name is Dustin. Remember that.  In 1977 (the year I was born), my name was the 81st most popular boy's name in the US, barely edging out the ever-asexual "Jamie."  "Dustin" has since fallen to the #303 position -  a drastic decline, yes, but not surprising since the name does come with a certain cross to bear. 

You will never have a clearer indication that your existence has no impact on your fellow man than when your identity is constantly mistaken.  I have been called Justin (a lot), Dusty, Jason, Doug, Kevin, Dwight, Don, and Rusty.  Most often by people who should know damn well who I am.  And Dusty irks me the most.  I was branded with this misnomer on the first day of 7th grade by my gym teacher.  She took attendance by calling out our full name, and then she followed up by asking what name we went by.  When she got to me, "Dustin" was obviously my reply.  "Okay, Dusty!" she barked back as she made a notation in the roll book with what must've been a permanent marker.  Though I repeatedly corrected her for three straight years, it never sank in. I was Dusty day in and day out with that woman.

I also happened to meet Dusty Rhodes in Charlotte last year, and I got an autograph.  He asked me whom to make it out to, and I told him, you guessed it, "Dustin."  He forgot before the cap came off of the Sharpie and had to ask me again.  I know the man has taken numerous blows to the head in his life and has probably met more than his fair share of fans - what with him being the American Dream and all - but his own son's name is DUSTIN.

And it's not just the name.  Physically, I should stand out in a crowd.  I'm almost always the tallest and/or broadest person in the room.  There can't be that many clumsy oafs in this world whom I resemble.  Or can there?  I have been mistaken for

• A UPS driver
• A brick mason from Clayton, NC
• An exterminator ("I apologize - you look like someone who kills bugs," a complete stranger told me at Borders. "You should be flattered. They make a lot of money.")
• My granddad mistook me for my uncle once
• At a gas station in South Carolina, someone thought I was his supervisor from work.  Does he not see this man on at least a semi-regular basis?
• A friend of a friend told me once that I resembled Vincent D'Onofrio.  Even though I wanted to ask her which Vincent D'Onofrio character she thought I looked like, my gut instinct is that she had the psychopath from Full Metal Jacket in mind.

So make a conscious effort, folks.  Play Brain Age, order a memory-boosting course from the back of a comic book, do something - anything to help you remember the name of the next poor schmuck you meet.  Don't burden So-and-So with the angst of being forever referred to as Such-and-Such.