#2018summer

As of yesterday and per my state’s probate court, my name has officially been changed ^______^ I concluded to keep a Hispanic origin, a family middle name, and happen to end up with the same initials for the 4th consecutive generation. I thought I was overdressed for the occasion as I waited for my turn outside the overcrowded office in the government building. Across the hall, an overhead sign marked what I imagined to be a delightful stop in anyone’s day: the tax collector. As if I wasn’t already relieved at my business being elsewhere, the winding-down-the-hall line made me all the more patient to wait my turn. I was however, in a right foul mood and confessed my thoughts later, to my parents as I reported on my day. “I feel awful for even thinking it but... I don’t know, have some self respect. It’s a governmental building!” I did nothing else but people watch while I waited. Person after person walked by in dirty, misshaped, old sneakers. Their pants were no better-- worn-out jeans topping the ill-fitting sweats of the last individual. Shirts/tops were nothing to write home about, either. 99% of these folks were obese (using the term quite clinically here), white, old, cis-male(as far as I can tell, and I like to think I have a solid Transmitter), so maybe that had to do with some of it? There I was, sitting in my bought-for-the-occasion navy dress shirt, light green tie, steel dress pants... surrounded by my unconditionally supportive grandparents, judging more harshly with every human that walked by. “You’re human. So what! It’s okay to have a nasty thought! You’re not perfect!” My dad exclaimed before I confessed with specifics of my ugly thoughts outside the probate court. “Well I know, but what business do I have judging anyone? Maybe they have it really rough at home, or maybe they’re homeless! Although I guess they wouldn’t have any business with the tax collector...” I started to ramble as the assurance of my father sank in. So I spilled my judgments. I didn’t report  though, the intrusive complaints and mental eye-rolling that shot through my brain as my grandma went into detail about her friend’s mother’s great grandchild...  “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God...” she said it. I was way too entertained hearing it all and following her orders, right hand up in the air. Towards the end of the oath, I tried recalling episodes of SVU to make sure I had the appropriate response. Was it I do? Yes ma’am? Wait... “ma’am..?” Shit, oh, she’s done.  “Um... Yes.” I replied with an awkward smile and sat down after her approval/instruction. She asked a couple of questions after which finally made me realize the whole point for needing to appear in front of a judge. As in, she concluded that no, I wasn’t changing my name to avoid the IRS/hide any criminal background. She seemed to be entertained by my case or my replies, as she loosened up, smiled, and asked me more about my travel plans and career. “Sorry, off topic, but...” It wasn’t until I was outside of the building when I realized and wanted to kick myself for missing the opportunity: I never said your honor.