by the way, which one's pink?

I work in a retirement community, and I've been called many wrong names over the two years I've been here. Evidently I am interchangeable with any other male employee who has dark hair and was born between 1975 and 1990. First I was Diego. Then Lazar. Then Chuck. I'm even Danny on ocassion, even though the real Danny is 6'5" and blond.

The problem is even worse on the phone, presumably because people don't have a face to go with my voice, and many seniors have poor hearing. I've been Kevin, Trevor, Kenneth, Calvin, Gabe, and about five or six others that I can't remember now (I used to keep a running list next to the phone). It was not uncommon to have a conversation like this three or more times in a day:

"Transportation, this is Caleb."
"Kevin?"
"No, Caleb."
"That's what I said. Kevin."
"No, not Kevin. This is Caleb."
"Oh! Hi Kenneth!"

A lot of changes take place in the brain as we get older, particularly with regard to memory, so I'm very gracious when the seniors get a little mixed up and think I'm someone else. I wish I could say it's just the seniors who do it, though. There's a chef here who's been calling me Charlie for the better part of a year, despite the large print name tag I wear every day. I've never corrected him, opting instead to see how long he carries on before someone else sets him straight. I guess you can say it's my own little field study, n=1. So far, it doesn't look like there's any end in sight.