I’ve often said, to anyone who will listen, that if I were the Benign Ruler of the Universe the second thing I would do, after establishing an era of World Peace, would be to mandate that everyone wear a name tag. Not the cheesy kind; the ones on sticky paper that you have to write your own name on with a pen or some sort of Sharpie ™ when you go to a meeting or a fundraising event. No, I mean a really nice brass or silver engraved one, with the option of a pin or a magnetic catch to hold it to your shirt, blouse, jacket or suit coat.
Your name tag wouldn’t say anything about what you do; it wouldn’t have your job title or description or anything like that; just your full name and then, beneath that, what you prefer to be called. Mine, for example, would read thusly:
Michael G. Dell’Orto
“Michael”
From this, you now know my full name and that I like to be called Michael, not Mike or Mickey or, God forbid (and NOBODY ELSE besides my mother – and she’s dead – should ever presume to call me this) Mikey. Short, simple and to the point. Part of this comes from my own increasingly frustrating inability to remember names, even of people I’ve known for a long time. This way, whenever you meet someone, you can instantly greet them in a manner that pleases them; most importantly, you can avoid the embarrassment (and we’ve all been there) that comes from running into someone you vaguely recognize who immediately launches into a cheerful and pleasant conversation with you, all about your wife, your kids, and your coaching record on the local Little League team. During this colloquy you nod and smile, trying desperately to say something that makes some modicum of sense, vamping madly while that part of your brain that has been, up to now, screaming “who the hell is this person?” at you scrambles to come up with some sort of name to put to the face before you.
All in all, a practical and, may I say, an ingenious and simple solution to a nagging problem we all face at one point or another in our day-to-day living. There is an ancillary benefit here as well – think of how much more pleasant and polite the world would be if we could all greet anyone we meet by name. People would smile more, hearing their name and a quick “hello” called out by everyone they pass; if someone hurrying by you on the street or in a crowded corridor bumps into you and knocks what you are carrying onto the floor or the pavement, think of the potential anger and frustration normally generated by such an encounter that could be wiped away in an instant – “I’m sorry (looks at name tag), Katie; I was hurrying by so fast I didn’t see you there. Let me help you pick your things back up.” “Why thank you (looks at name tag) Steve, that’s kind of you.” “Say, Katie, I was on my way to the Starbucks for a mocha latte, would you care to join me – my treat? It’s the least I can do.” “Why, that’s awfully nice of you, Steve; I think I will take you up on your kind invitation.” Who knows where a chance encounter like that could lead?
And then it hit me. Maybe, just maybe, I had been thinking about this all backwards. Perhaps it was the name tags that needed to come first all along; and then, as their use spread from town to town, city to city, state to state, then all over the globe, it would follow, as the night the day, as inevitable as the common cold – world peace! Barriers would fall, civility would reign triumphant.
Just think, for one moment, how this might work. For example, say you are at an airport in a foreign country, waiting on line to get through security. There you are, dragging your luggage behind you, in your stocking feet, your shoes clutched in your hand. The guy ahead of you is bearded, dark-skinned, carrying a backpack. He seems to be singing, or perhaps he is praying, softly to himself as the line moves slowly forward. Leaning precariously out of a torn pocket in the backpack is what looks suspiciously like a copy of the Q’uran. The book falls out of the pocket when the bearded man moves forward; you swiftly catch it before it hits the floor, and the man turns to you: “Excuse me (you look at his name tag) Abdullah Muhammad, but I think this fell out of your backpack. I caught it as it fell.” “Salaam Aleikum (he looks at your name tag) Bob, thank you so much for not letting it touch the floor. I can’t help but noticing by your accent that you are an American. I was always led to believe that Americans had no respect for the Q’uran, but I can see I was mistaken.” “That’s great of you to say that, Abdullah Muhammad; heck, I was always led to believe that anyone who was a Muslim just hated everything I’ve ever stood for, but I can see in your face that you’re not like that at all. Hey, when we get through security let me buy you a drink!” “That’s generous of you, Bob, but devout Muslims don’t drink.” “Oh, bummer. Well, Abdullah Muhammad, how about I find us a place to get a couple of milkshakes instead?” “That’d be just great, Bob!” And they slowly head off to the airport gate area together, pulling photos of their kids out of their wallets and discussing their mutual love of World Cup soccer.
Name tags -- world peace – think about it . . .
