I don’t blame her. She leads the BodyPump
class (bench presses to Alien Ant Farm and sit-ups to Avril Lavigne!)
for 300 people a week; I have to memorize only 10 gym staffers’ names.
I’m sure that my predilection for vintage work shorts with tags
bearing names that are not mine (save the “Hagerstown Ford” shirt,
which has a name tag that reads “Joe”) isn’t helping matters any.
She does know me as “that guy who plays the accordion”, however.
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next time she makes a mistake just tell her "my name's joey, but it's OK to call me accordionguy"