For the vast majority of my life I have suffered the indignity of hearing my surname butchered. Most Americans just can't seem to wrap their tongues around those French vowels. Although, I must admit, it's a great way to screen for telemarketers. "Good evening. Is Mr. Du...aah, Mr. Dup-ROY at home?" Click.
But that's not the case here in South America. Like the seasons or the directional flow of a flushing toilet, things here are reversed. My last name is not problem. It is my first name that trips people up. So, to make things easier, it was suggested I adopt a nickname. I've become Fidel.
My first name -- however unusual -- presents no problems of pronunciation for my countrymen.
But that's not the case here in South America. Like the seasons or the directional flow of a flushing toilet, things here are reversed. My last name is not problem. It is my first name that trips people up. So, to make things easier, it was suggested I adopt a nickname. I've become Fidel.It works wonders. A few weeks ago I was on the phone trying to make a reservation for a minivan to the airport. Here's an excerpt of the conversation:
me - Good afternoon. I'd like to reserve a minivan tomorrow morning to the airport.
she (reservation agent) - Your last name, sir?
me - Dupuy.
she - First name?
me - Fielding.
she - What? I didn't get that.
me - Fielding.
she - Again, please.
me - Fiel-DING!
she (playing the audibility card) - I can't hear you, sir. Your name again?
me ("sigh") - Fidel.
she - Ah, claro! Fidel Dupuy. Your phone number? ....
The next morning, bright and early I'm outside the hotel waiting as the minivan pulls up. Smiling broadly, the driver hops out and shouts, "Buenos dias, Don Fidel!"
So, I've become Fidel. It saves a lot of time, actually.
