I am not, by nature, what you’d call demonstrative. I once had a friend describe me as “white bread with lips.”
However, during one glorious day at work I actually whooped and danced around following a major success. This led one of the office smart-asses to comment “Hmmm. Looks like Eeyore found his tail.”
The name stuck. For the rest of my time at that job, anyonme who wanted to get under my skin called me Eeyore.
That was more than a decade, and a couple of jobs ago. Now, after 18 months at my current workplace, I’ve learned that their behind-my-back name for me is, in fact, Eeyore.
Oh, lordy, I have a Eeyore at work, too! The name fits him so well, we don’t even bother the behind the back thing, we just call him Eeyore to his face. At another job, we had a guy whose name tage read “P. Lloyd.” He got named Pink Lloyd, and it just about killed him to hear it. We’d pay visitors to the workplace to go up to him and say something to him using the hated nickname. It never pays to let someone know you don’t like a nickname.
My brother is a total Eeyore and since the primary responsibility of being the older sister is to torment your younger sibling, needless to say I called him “Eeyore” atleast once a day. much to his chagrin. Thankfully, he seems to have outgrown those temdencies and is now an actual member of the human race (only took 23 years, too).
Ah, thanks for clearing that up BigDaiv. I do remember the donkey of which you speak. I’ve only seen the Pooh stuff a couple of times when I was a kid, never new the name of the donkey though.
I myself gave someone a Nickname That Wouldn’t Die.
Germany, 1988-89. A young soldier is assigned to our unit and lives in the barracks with the rest of us bachelors and -ettes. He has the same last name as me. The common way for soldiers to refer to each other is by last name (since it’s plastered right there on your chest while in uniform). Can’t have two people being called the same thing, can we? Since I was senior at the unit we had to come up with another name. My group of friends was heavily into Monty Python and we listened and quoted the ‘Bruces’ sketch all the time. Everybody in the sketch is named Bruce, so that became the young guy’s nickname. Since he hooked up with us first and we all called him Bruce, everyone in the unit thought that was his name. When I left the unit a year later, I realised that nobody (including me) knew what his real first name was. He was just Bruce. Not an awful nickname, but awful in that nobody knew what to really call him after I was gone.
I have a friend named George, or at least, that’s what my cirlce of friends and I call him. His real name is Kevin, but to us, he always was and always will be George. Basically, long before I even met him, someone decided they needed a friend by that name, and he became “it”. Since it didn’t bother him at all (we’ve asked), the name just kind of stuck. I think I was friends with him for nearly a year before I found out it wasn’t even his name. When he lived at home, and his parents would answer the phone, they were used to people looking for George. And they even called him that, sometimes.
Since people split up to go to school, his workmates and girlfriend have taken to calling him Kevin again, to the point where he once identified himself as such on an unexpected collect call when he was in town last summer. It wasn’t until I said yes and he got on the line, shouting “It’s GEORGE!” that I realised who it was - his grilfriend was audible in the background saying “I TOLD you you should have said George!”
I worked at a place where a friend of the boss would call and just say “it’s George”. I guess his name was too difficult to pronounce and his golfing buddies just called him George.
My extended family and all my family’s friends have been calling me Mad dog ever since I can remember. I even have a nicklastname that usually follows Mad dog. It was given to me as a joke because no matter what people did try to get under my skin as a young child, no one had ever made me mad. I was too good-natured and reasonable. My dad and his family made it in hopes it would toughen me up. It didn’t work. I tried not to answer to the name when I was a teenager, but eventually I stopped caring and just accepted it. The more you try to run from a nickname the more it sticks.
When my sister’s oldest daughter was little, she couldn’t say my name, so she began calling me Buddy. Fast forward a few years and now there’s another neice who calls me Buddy too. My Christmas gift tags even said Buddy on them. No matter how hard I try they refuse to call me by name. I’m doomed to forever be Aunt Buddy.
Yeah, a good friend of mine’s boyfriend is really moody and mopey around her (but not around anyone else, strangely), so she calls him Eeyore behind his back to me. And so does her mom.
The day after Thanksgiving, I found a really cool Eeyore T-Shirt on sale for $10 at the Disney Store and bought if for myself for Christmas. Underneath the picture of my hero, it says “The power of pessimism since 1966.” I have a problem with that. My copy of “The House at Pooh Corner” in which A.A. Milne introduces us to Christopher Robin, Winnie-the-Pooh (a bear of very little brain), Owl, Piglet, Rabbit, and, of course Eeyore, is copyrighted 1928. Disney co-opted the franchise for a cartoon short, and apparently would have us now believe they invented him and his friends. Bah. Read the book, it’s better!