My Starbucks Name

“What can I get started for you?” this from the green clad Starbucks employee behind the counter.

“Tall iced coffee with soy,” I say.

She grabs a 12 oz. clear cup from a stack and scribbles something in the little squares printed on the plastic.

“Sweetened or unsweetened?”

“Unsweetened.” She scribbles again.

And then the moment of truth.

Sharpie poised, she says, “What’s your name?”

I hesitate, stutter, I’m flustered. The barista looks at me strangely.

Finally I blurt, “Chavi”.

The ‘ch’ in my name, sometimes spelled ‘kh’, is pronounced the Israeli way, deep in the throat. If the person I’m talking to looks like it would help them, I say “like a Spanish J”.

The barista pauses, unsure, and then resumes scribbling.

I wonder what my name will be this time. In the past, Starbucks cups have come back with all sorts of creative reinterpretations of my name, from the benign Havi, to the bizarre Fabio.

I’m not the only one with this problem. I have friends whose names are Nechama, Elchonon (Chonye for short), Chanchie and Chanina. Then there are Indians and Asians and Persians and Scandinavians, or people with creative parents, all with names the American tongue has trouble reproducing, as does the American Sharpie.

I sat around a dinner table once with a group of people I’d just met, and turns out we all had this in common. W went around and each person revealed their Starbucks name. “I’m Dror,” a giant but gentle Israeli said, “and my Starbucks name is Tom.”

“I’m Saloman,” said a guy from Mexico City in a heavy accent.“In Starbucks I am Josh.”

After that there was Sarah, Matt, Jake, Brad and Kate.

My Starbucks name is Reese, which is similar to my middle name. Or sometimes Sarah. Once it was Nicole. And by once I mean, that’s the name I had in mind when I entered the store. I’ve never managed to lie about my name.

Back at Starbucks I’m waiting for my coffee. Another green clad employee holds up a tall iced coffee with soy, unsweetened. “Ha.. ha..,” he reads and changes his mind.

“Tall iced coffee with soy, unsweetened!” he announces.

“Thank you,” I say, “That’s me.”