First, I'd like to thank my Father for the idea to do this. Second, I would like to thank everyone who calmed me down yesterday/today, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to calm down enough to write.
I haven't gone over it and looked at anything, I don't think I'm in much of a critiquing state. But any comments are greatly appreciated, though nothing may happen to this in a while. Think of it as a short burst of distraction for me.
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John Smith
Disclamer:I don't know anything about the process of Name Change yet, I scanned a little information. If someone would like to inform me better, it would be lovely.
A plain man sat in the Court House, waiting for his name to be called. I say plain, because there was nothing surprising about this man. If you saw John Smith (the normal man I speak of) in a crowd, you would not want to know where he worked, who he married or what he had done with his life. It did not matter to you or to anyone else. He looked like a Joe Smoe or a John Doe, though the normality of “John Smith” fit him just as well.
The only strange thing about John today was that he wanted to change his name. The other odd thing was the spoon he held. It was a spoon, yes; but why the spoon? No one else had spoons, in fact of the five or so other occupants of chairs (Maybe drug users or ex-convicts if you will) held in their hands papers and forms and the occasional bible but no spoons.
The room didn’t even present the option of spoons, with signs like “No Food or Drink,” and the receptionist behind her desk who looked like she was pensively chewing gum and pushing papers, it was better to leave the spoons at home. Unless of course, you were going to use it to threaten said receptionist into stopping the awful chewing noises she continued to make, but even then a spoon would not be your best choice.
It was not long before John Smith was called back, spoon being carried as if it was a prized position.
Seated in the court of law, he began to explain his name changing wish.
“What would you like your name to be, John Smith?”
He held up the spoon with a graceful lift. “This,” John said, hoping the judge’s eyes would wonder down to what he held.
“Spoon?”
He shook his head and again showed them the spoon, “No, this.”
“Yes, spoon?”
“No, not ‘spoon’ the name, ‘spoon’ the object.”
The judge coughed, showing signs of nervous confusion. “I’m not sure I catch your drift.”
John lowered the spoon and sighed heavily as though this was an explanation he had made many times. “You see the spoon I’m holding? I want my name to be that. But not the word ‘spoon’ or the name ‘spoon’ but the actually object.”
“But you can’t say objects.”
“Yes, I know.”
“But…Aren’t names for saying? What will they call you?”
“I’ve thought on this one,” John said proudly, as if it meant something finally, “The man formally known as ‘John Smith’.”
The judge seemed to be cursing, but the words did not leave his mouth. “So, the object, ‘spoon’ is your name?”
“Yes. Get it?” John smiled brightly
“Well yes but—are you sure?”
He nodded, “More sure about this than anything else.”
“What should we write on the documents?” the Judge asked hesitantly.
“Spoon? The Man Formally Known as John Smith? What ever you like.”
“I mean…It is an object.”
The Documents were signed as, “Spoon (object)” and John Smith was no longer John Smith. One may think that the normalcy following the man formally known as John Smith might have faded, but one would never know. His looks did not change; his personality neither. He did not marry someone else, or get a new job. In fact, if it has not been for his name, John would still be the same person.
The only change was that, when out at clubs, which the man formally known as John did not do much to begin with, girls struggled to get a grip around his name and denied his request for digits. But, thinking back, that wasn’t much of a change at all.
is shouting, rather than sounding exicted.
