So, I’m shopping at Penney’s the other day and over the intercom a voice says, “Lacey Baum, please come to the service desk….Lacey Baum, please come to the service desk.”
Seriously? Somebody named their daughter Lacey Baum? Because, you know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think maybe Molly was working at JCP these days. If I ever hear Phil McCracken, or Bea O’Problem paged, I’m going to be really suspicious.
But apparently this is a real person, because it’s not the first time I’ve heard this poor girl paged at Penney’s. The first time I heard it, I ended up doubled over, snorting and laughing as I propped myself up against a rack of baby clothes. I have to say, though that I am impressed that ol’ Lacey Baum is gainfully employed. You know, a name like that might be some sort of self-fulfilling prophesy sort of deal. It’s not too hard to envision ol’ Lacey, 40 years old, sittin’ on her parents’ couch, eatin’ cornies, watchin’ Springer, and becoming irate when her mom asks her if she’s looked for a job yet. You can almost hear her snarl, “No, Mom, I’m a LACEY BAUM, remember?!”
Still, I’m thinking maybe the reason I hear her paged every time I’m in the store these days is because, indeed, you have to holler at least twice to get her to do anything. She’s all like, “Hel-lo, I’m on break over here—yeah, that’s right the Lacey Baum is on break–again.”
Really, people, let’s think this through before we hang some horrible curse of a name on our kids, k? Maybe that needs to be something that’s discussed in those pre-natal classes. Or maybe it’s something that should be included in baby name books. Forget the meaning of the name—let’s point out that it rhymes with some bodily function, or sounds like something obscene.
The future Harry Butts of the world will thank us for it.