I was having lunch with a friend a few days ago. She was wearing her name tag.
Who knows why I commented…maybe because when someone affixes one to my lapel, I tend to forget it and wear it until I get to my grandson’s ball game. (My daughter will always look at me and ask where I’ve been.) Oh well, I’ve already been to the grocery store, through T. J. Maxx and to pick up a prescription at the pharmacy. Embarrassing.
My friend has a different take. She’s the head of her organization. That isn’t advertised on her chest, it’s just her name and her company. And she wears it purposely…especially if she is a bit grumpy that day.
“It keeps me in line,” she says.
Interesting, huh? She can’t anonymously snap at the waitress, be demanding at checkout, or shove her way through the little family happily visiting with each other instead of walking along the sidewalk. She can’t spend her lunch break spreading her pissy mood throughout town without being recognized.
I like the concept. Accountability.
I’m wearing my name tag.