What My Job and the Mickey Mouse Club Do Not Have in Common

Besides the obvious . . . as dumb and relentlessly cheese ball as the Mickey Mouse Club was (Is it still on?), things that both it and my job share, everyone on the MMC could spell. M-I-C-K-E-Y M-O-U-S-EEEEEEE. That Last letter sonorously ringing out its correctly placed ending vowel. Way to go mousters, you can spell someone's name better than the upper management of my company!

I know that it's the New Year and I should be writing a list of pensive reflections on my life and times, but it's hard for me to think about when I keep receiving emails for "Sara" from one of my bosses. I figured it would have stopped by now, having been employed here for almost a full year (11 months, 5 days, and 16 hours), but as surely as the sun rises in East, does the setting down of "Sara" wash over the electronic pages of my inbox.

Maybe I'm being too harsh? Maybe the correct spelling of my name, which appears as twin bookends at the top and bottom ever every email I've ever sent ever is just too subtle? Maybe she's dyslexic (which would explain SO much more)? Why does this bother me so much!!!!

Ultimately the total lack of observation required to completely ignore the correct spelling of my name time and time again triggers something deep within my to get royally ticked off. It must be some essential question of the self, for its right to be recognozed as wholly its own. I am one of approximately 50 millions Sarah's in the world, but I am Sarah Haufrect and there's only one of me and I spell my name with big fatty-ass H on the end, thank you very much.

This is my New Year's Resolution- I resolve to find some way, any way, to get my crazy, oblivious, possibly dyslexic boss to spell my name S-A-R-A-HHHHHHHHH by the time I quit or are fired and if not, upon my departure, I will kindy shake said boss's hand and candidly state, "There's an H on the end BITCH."

I think 2007 is off to a very healthy start.