More than Just a Name

Every time I enter the local Jamba Juice I have a set routine: I walk up to the yellow, wooden counter, the teenage cashier gives me a perky, yet forced, smile, asks for my order, and I reply, “ Razzmatazz.” When the cashier asks for my name, I nonchalantly answer, “Bianca.”
Being that both my parents are Persian, it makes sense that they would give me a Persian name. Of course, by the time I was able to attend school as a child, I chided my mother for not giving me an easier name to pronounce—a battle that would continue for the next ten years. I always became angry at my mother for not giving me a better known, or at least pronounceable, Persian name like Leila. If Eric Clapton could write a song about it, I think the rest of the world could catch on.
As a child I used to dread the first day of school because I was always so mortified, having to constantly repeat my name to the new teachers. It was the same pattern every year. I knew that once my new teacher would go down the class roll, they would pause at my name, and attempt something vile sounding. There would be quiet snickers in the background, and me, turning red as I’d correct the teacher and try to move on.
One of the most embarrassing teachers was in my freshman Biology class. It took her about half the year to quasi say my name. Everyday before class started, she would make a showing effort to attempt it. She would make some bizarre sounds—Punah, Poooneh, Ponagh— twisting her face, annunciating in all the wrong places, and looking at me for approval. I would awkwardly say, “Yeah, sure, it’s closer…” After Christmas break, she stuck with one of the versions of her pronunciations that she decided was right, and continued calling me it throughout the rest of the year.
In order for someone to begin to know you, they obviously first have to know your name. For me, the act of saying my name is more complicated than it is for most people because mine always has to follow with clarification. How do you say it again? What kind of name is it? What does it mean?
Over the years I’ve become weary of explaining myself to people I know I’ll never see again, so I find it pointless to explain myself to them when I don’t have to. I chose the name Bianca because it’s rare but also recognizable. Besides, it provides the satisfaction of having an interesting name, without the obligations of an explanation.