Isaac Asimov by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

What's in a name, anyway?

The Game of the Name by Alice Laurance

His name was Warren Ingling, which is a perfectly good name unless your job requires spending a good deal of time on the telephone; unless your success depends on people getting your name right. Warren Ingling had that kind of job, and every day it was the same.

"Please remember, if you want to order, my name is Ingling."

"Could you spell that?"

"I-n-g . . ."

"I-n-g . . ."

"l-i-n-g."

"Oh. L-i-n-g . . ."

"No. I-n-g . . ."

"Yes. I-n-g . . ."

"1-i-n-g."

"Well, is it 'I-n-g' or 'L-i-n-g'?"

"It's I-n-g-l-i-n-g. Ing-ling."

"Right. Thank you for calling, Mr. Lingling."

"Lingling" really wasn't too bad; over the years, he'd gotten everything from "Ting-a-ling" to "Ping Pong." He knew he had missed some orders on sales he'd really made because someone had failed to get his name, called up and gotten another salesman, and ordered through him. He constantly threatened to change his name so no one was surprised when he finally did it. No one was surprised, that is, until they learned he'd exchanged Ingling for Czernyavitch.

He had a reason--whether it was a good reason even he didn't know--but he never told anyone what it was.

It began with his wife, an ouija board enthusiast. She wheedled Warren into sitting for hours with the board balanced across their knees, while they took turns with the pointer. Warren had no luck at all, his answers were invariably gibberish, but hers made sense. She insisted she wasn't guiding the pointer, but there wasn't any way to prove it. He tried to think of some question to use as a test, but they knew each other too well and he failed to come up with anything he was certain she had no knowledge of.

He was inclined to believe that she wasn't deliberately influencing the pointer after he had her ask the board who the company's next Sales Manager would be. Browleigh was due to retire in a couple of months and Warren (along with several others) was in line for the promotion. Had Sarah influenced the pointer, it would certainly have spelled out Ingling, but instead, the name produced was Czernyavitch.

"Who's Czernyavitch?" Sarah asked, sounding a little upset.

"I have no idea. There's no one in the office with a name like that."

He forgot the whole thing until several weeks later when Sarah appeared wearing a fur coat they couldn't possibly afford.

"You aren't mad, are you, dear?" she said. "It's all paid for, I didn't charge it or anything like that."

He demanded an explanation--having private visions of lawsuits, bankruptcy proceedings, and jail--and she rather shame-facedly explained that she'd won the money gambling. "I was playing with the ouija board. You aren't supposed to do it alone . . . at least, I don't think you are, but I thought it probably wouldn't hurt anything, so I did. At first, nothing much happened, but then it spelled out, 'Make notes,' so I got a pencil and paper and then it gave me nine numbers and then spelled out Pimpleco.

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