Once at a Boston Market, the teen-aged cashier asked a name they could call out when my order was ready. “Speedo,” I replied, having just come from the pool.
“That’s a funny name.”
“Well, now,” I explained. “They often call me Speedo, but my real name is Mr. Earl.”
Being a black kid, I thought he would get the joke, but he just replied, “Okay, Mr. Earl.”
I guess a two-generation gap was too much.
(The line is from “Speedo,” a 1950s “do-wop” rhythm and blues song by “The Cadillacs.” Once cool, you hear it now on Public TV fundraisers aimed at geezers and crones.)