Those Devastating Little Lies…
You know the ones. The ones that come back and bite you on your ass.
Have you ever given out a fake name?
I have. Sometimes as a joke. Sometimes it’s because I don’t want people to stalk me. Sometimes it’s because I’m wary when I first meet strangers in places like bars. I once told this guy in college that I went by Bambi because that’s the name I stripped under when I had to raise money for my grandmother’s cataract operation. I apparently said it with such earnesty and forgot to tell him that I was just kidding, that months later, he was confused when he couldn’t get a response from me while yelling my name from across a busy street. We laughed about it later, and he always called me Bambi, though when I later told him that I was born in Dallas, he wouldn’t believe me.
Have you ever given someone a fake name and then regretted it?
This is what happens when you’re wary of the opposite sex. I’ve given a fake name before because for some reason, I just didn’t want some stranger getting too close to me, but then, he or she turns out to be cool or interesting. Then I’m pissed at myself because what am I supposed to say, everything has been a lie? When in fact, the only thing I was dishonest about was my name? Oops.
Someone I met a long time ago just got in touch with me again about potential creative endeavors. I felt stupid because I gave him a name that wasn’t my birth name when we first met because sometimes I don’t trust people in bars and I didn’t trust his intentions, but after getting to know him and finding out that he was a normal person who wasn’t a shark, I didn’t know how to correct it; then I felt guilty about it so I stopped talking to him. But of course, how dumb do I look to say, all these years that we’ve been minor acqaintances, I couldn’t even be honest about the most basic thing?
Then I think about the time that I didn’t want to date someone anymore because I knew he had been deceptive about his age, but also that he didn’t know how to backtrack and tell me. I didn’t want to date him anymore not so much because he had lied about his age, but because he didn’t feel comfortable enough or trust me enough to tell me later.
Which I guess is one of those things you can look at both ways; I probably should have just confronted him about it because in hindsight, it’s not a big deal and we’re actually friends now, though I’ve never mentioned that I actually know how old he is. That was a missed opportunity for communication and honesty.
I guess if someone told me that they gave me a fake name because they were being stupid or were wary or whatever, I would undertand. So maybe other people would, too. I just find it amazing how a small little deception can sometimes escalate. Or maybe, sometimes we subconsciously set ourselves up by doing something like telling a small but blatant lie, so that we can sabotage things later on if they end up getting too good. Way to go, kids.
So I declare this week Honesty Week. I’ll be honest about all the things everyone has ever wondered, and whoever wants to come clean to me about things (ie where the hell are my autographed cards?), can come clean with amnesty. But only for a week. And then I’m kicking ass.