One day I was driving in a car with my high school American History teacher, Mr. Bridwell. He had taken me to a bookstore - & before you say anything, I know it's weird to hang out with teachers when you're in high school, but I admired him, & he seemed to like me & it was fun going to a bookstore with him because we both loved books. One time, I remember, when I saw him later, when I was in college, & deeply in love with The Smiths, I quoted Morrissey to him:
There's more to life than books, you know
But not much more
He laughed approvingly.
Anyway, we were in a car, & he was in a good mood, & he made a little joke to himself about me, almost as if I weren't even there, because I was yammering away about something, he said, "Garrulous Gary." Because I did talk & talk & talk in those days, & mostly about meaningless stuff. I did, & I do. But he had made a funny in his head with a word & my name, & he said it out loud, & he laughed.
The weird thing is, since he wasn't talking to me, & he said it somewhat quietly, I thought he said, "Querulous Gary." & I stopped talking because, well, I knew what that word meant. It means complaining & whining. & I didn't think I was doing that. (I knew the word's meaning, actually, because it was an SAT word I had learned the previous year.)
My feelings were a little hurt, but I did my best to hide them, & probably wasn't as chatty the rest of the drive. Luckily we were on our way home when this happened.
Why didn't I ever ask him why he said that? It would have been a simple question! Because, as you might have realized, I heard him later called me "Garrulous Gary" & realized I had misheard.
But just asking at the time would have saved me a lot of hurt feelings.
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