I order a Hot Latte, and the counterperson asks for a name. “Guy,” I say.

She says she can’t enter that name in the machine.

Puzzled, I spell it for her: G.U.Y.

“Oh,” she says, blushing, and starts typing.

I think for a moment. “Did you think I said God?”

She nods, looking at the register, blushing.

“Far from it,” I assure her, “about as far away as you could get, actually.”

The adventures of being named Guy.

I get: Kai, Sky, Shy, and Scott. In Guatemala, I got Gooey (I said, Let’s go with Martín). From anyone with a semester of French, it’ll be Gui(!) as if I’ve never heard that before. Sometimes people are just dumbfounded—“Guy?? Like dude?!”

And sometimes I’ll add, “Yeah, and my wife’s name is Gal.”

I pay for my order and step away for a moment. When I return, there’s my Grande Latte. At least it’s mine if I’m Gud. My new coffee name, apparently.

Bio: Guy Biederman