Back in another lifetime, I worked at an Air Force Base in San Antonio. I was a civilian contractor along with two other guys in my office doing base computer support. Randy was suddenly obsessed with finding out my middle name. All I would give was the initial, “E”. He kept trying every once in a while. Finally, one day we were filing out some official forms and he came and looked over my shoulder at my copy. Under middle name, I wrote, “E”.
That pissed him off. He went back to his desk and picked up the phone and called my mom. We were good friends at the time and I was still living with my mom so he knew the number. She answered the phone and he asked her what my middle name was while I yelled, “Don’t tell him!”. She did anyway.
There’s nothing wrong with the name, Earl, I guess. Still, I was never very proud of it. I never even liked my first name and the second name was worse.
Even to this day I occasionally remember my middle name. It sounds just as foreign now as it did then. I’m always like, “Oh yeah. I forgot.”