Wednesday, March 07, 2007


I've never been one to be particularly nickname-prone. I can only think of a very few I've had in my life ever...

For the bulk of my elementary school career, I was the girl with the double-first name. (smartass), NOT because I grew up in the sticks. I mean, yes, I did grow up in the sticks, but that's not why I had the double-name. I got the double name in second grade because in my class there were...(how to do this and still pretend to be anonymous)...there was (the equivalent of) two "Steves," a "Steven," and a "Stevie" I got saddled with (the equivalent of) "Steve-Bob." My fourth grade teacher had no idea that it was a first + middle combo...everyone was just used to calling me the whole thing. Perhaps the only redeeming quality of Middle School was being able to go back to just being me.

I also had a nickname when I lived in Missouri....a variation of my last (maiden) name....that I liked rather a lot. It kind of fit.

But...the only nickname I've ever had that's been even remotely story-worthy was the one I got my sophomore year in college. I lived that year in the basement of a dorm (the floor was known as "Hell")...without a resident advisor...with a group of 5 seniors. There were only 3 rooms on the hall, a tiny bathroom, and the lounge-area. It was a year marked by a spectacular rise in my alcohol tolerance, an early case of senioritis, a mass-protest of Valentine's Day, and the morning I opened my door to find that my Hell-mates had boarded me into my room (literally). It was that kind of year...and it was awesome.

The nickname in question was born after a particularly big night out on the campus. I'd walked home after too many beers (and, knowing me, some late-in-the-game shot of whiskey or something else that I'd never drink otherwise) and made it to my dorm. I went into my room and tried to wake up my roommate to tell her...whatever it was that occurred to me to tell her at 3 a.m....gave up and went to bed.

Or that's roughly what I thought happened.

What actually happened was that I somehow got turned around in my journey. Instead of walking into my room on the basement floor, I wound up in the room of one of the girls on the first floor. And instead of waking up my roommate....I woke up some other girl. Legend has it that the conversation went something like this:

Me: Ang? Ang!
Her: Wha?
Me: Ang!
Her: I'm not Ang.
Me: Oh. Well, scoot over!
Her: I'm not Ang and I'm not scooting over!! of the next morning, and from that point on, I would answer to the name "Scoot." :)


towwas said...

Lol. That is awesome. I've never had a good nickname. Well, my parents call me by something other than my name, but if anyone else ever called me that, it would just be weird. Various international mispronunciations of my name have been standard at different times in my life. Occasionally people drop the second syllable (yes, very funny). But mainly I just answer to my name.

ImpetuousProse said...

Politically Correct.

No sweety, we don't say redneck. We say "she's from the sticks".