(written in September)

Apparently I had a nickname—or still HAVE a nickname—in the galley (depending on the cooks I’m working with. The other day the cook took me aside and told me he had something to tell me. “We have a special name for you,” he told me. Uh oh, I’m thinking. This can’t be good.

“When we saw ‘K.Eident’ appear on the schedule before you arrived, we had no idea who that may be. We thought the name could be Kenneth or Kevin, or even your name, Katie,” he said. “But we couldn’t decide if you were a guy or a girl. So we settled on ‘Klinkerton.’ We thought it was a nice, ambiguous name, and you’ve been called Klinkerton ever since.

“We even promoted you before we met you. We called you Corporal Klinkerton, among other things” he added. “We still refer to you as Klinkerton when you’re not around.” Today he called me “Klink” as he dropped dishes off in the scullery. Tehee.