Everyone has had a few names, and while I'm still close to the beginning, I'll say one I've said many times before. I think it's my favorite.
It was Elementary school death; the cafeteria before recess and though we all knew the heat would ache our chests and churn our stomachs, we ate. Well, most of us. I was trying my best. I had this Go-gurt tube like ones I had almost everyday. But this one. This, freaking plastic rapped piece of junk delicious half frozen yogurt pop, would not budge. I chewed, I gnawed, I clawed and it sat unmoving and unloving in my sweaty palms, laughing in apathy. Desperation called and I knew my last option. So I squeezed, and squeezed hard. Teeth gritting, angry faced, tense-up-your-whole-body just get this god damn snack. And it opened-
-Out of the wrong end.
And this creamy white decadence, this luscious condemnation of futility spilled all over my crotch.
The inevitable rhetoric of preteen brilliance uttered forth, for all to see; "Yogurt Pee!" "Yogurt Pee!"
And so I was. For an eternity, all that could be said in my general direction was this title earned by an action as dumb and inarticulate as the prepackaged not-for-resale tube it came in.
Three years I was Yogurt Pee.
And let me tell you, I survived. The great white whale of a name still stirs somewhere in the abysmal seas of my memory, and perhaps in the accumulative conscience it will ring an even tune of remembrance, and will make some no longer little dick smile to himself. Hopefully he will. I know I do.
And it makes me wonder sometimes why such similar Ahabs don't.