I fished around in my pants as I neared the four way stop, as the buzzing was driving me mad. Came up with my phone at last, and eyed the caller ID display so I would know how to proceed.

Land line, from the neighborhood. Phone doesn't recognize the number, but then it's new and I've not yet told it everything. Hmm. Okay, we'll try it like this.

I answered "This is [name]," using the name I use all day, in an office full of people who insist on sharing it. Three beats of silence follow before I hear her response.

"Uhhhhh... Is... Frank available?"

Shit.

"This is Frank," I said, with identical inflection to the contradictory statement I'd just made. More silence, and then a confused "Hello?" and "This is..." followed by the reason for the call.

"Ah, hi Krystal, sorry, I'm driving and my phone seems to be giving me trouble. Can you hear now?"

She's really fairly darling, for a girl who is both barely acquainted with me, and trying to sell me stuff. I was happy to be able to put her feet back underneath her for the remainder of her near-cold call. I did wrap it up as quickly as possible, though, and stared at the phone a bit after I clicked it shut. (No doubt to the dismay of my fellow drivers.)

Sometimes I feel a bit disgusted with myself, as I deal with the consequences of the implications of the fallout of the aftermath of my opting to take on this name.

Frankin' ain't easy.