Dexter

There’s this nice, old man at work that always calls me “Dexter.” I’m not sure if he honestly doesn’t know my name or if he just sees me more as a “Dexter,” but I’ve never had the heart to correct him. As a rule, I am proud of my name, and I don’t like or permit people to change or butcher it. But I let it slide with this guy, because he’s old, and I figure he has more important things to remember than what my real name is.