We have an extended family member that we call Déjà Poo. Not to his face because that would be potentially embarrassing, and he doesn’t have much of a sense of humour. Although, it was offered as a term of endearment.
He earned the nickname from repeated visits to our home whereby he would enter, shake hands, then immediately head to the toilet. Every single time, the same routine. After numerous encounters noting this unfaltering ritual, having at that particular day had my hand clenched then watched him turn toward the hall, I rolled my eyes and murmured “Déjà Poo”, and the name stuck.
Don’t worry, he won’t hear about it; we don’t see him anymore, since I made a disparaging remark about Jesus on the Book of Faces. (Like I said, no sense of humour.)
Ever wonder what nickname people make about you? Not the ones that are used in everyday conversations, like “Davo” or “Dog”. I mean the other name people assign to you as a way of recalling your affections or afflictions.
Ray had many nicknames, as can be seen on his memorial stubby cooler. Razor, Raymoondoh, Cartwheel, Killer Kehlet, Raymond the Ram. He earned “Killer” from boarding school in the late ‘70s, when our mother, Clarabelle, came up with a neat solution to prevent potential bullying. Ray was only a little bloke, and he was worried how he’d be treated in the locker rooms, so Clarabelle got all his tank tops and painted KILLER in bold font on the backs. I have no recollection how that turned out for him, but I’d wager not well.
“Cartwheel” was assigned by his mate Maximus Whikser, after one night when they’d had too much red wine and Ray found himself tumbling down a hillside, arms and legs flailing.
Nicknames are a bit of a Boys’ Club thing predominantly, which is why it is of no surprise that police use them constantly. If you’ve never had the pleasure of entering the hallowed halls of Major Crimes, please allow me to explain. You’ll be introduced to a “Detective Senior Captain Constable Sergeant Joe Blogs”, then they’ll turn to the hall and speak to each other using assigned nicknames. Paully, Georgie, and Ringo, or whatever—I can’t recall, It’s been awhile between visits. Given how these blogs are going, no doubt the next visit will be in handcuffs.
‘Cocky’, ‘Gonzo’, ‘The Used Car Salesman’, ‘Scuntlebury’, and ‘Steve’ were the nicknames my Wife and I used to discuss each meeting with said coppers between 2015 and last year. It was easier for us that way, to assign a familiarity. It’s hard to remember all those formal names, you know?
Ever wonder what nickname people assign to you?
Eighteen months or so ago, just after we’d sent a letter to the DPP, old mate Steve gave me a call. He’d had a few interesting phone conversations that week. Our letter had made a few people feel “accountable” . . .finally.
Unfortunately I was working down in the Great Southern lands, driving a Hilux down a conveyor track at the time, so I was also ensuring I didn’t go sliding in the mud and hitting a power pole, like two of my work colleagues and I had done just the day before. I was on speaker phone, obvs. At the end of the conversation, I said to Steve, “Well, I can only hope I can recall all those details to pass on to the fam.”
“You’ll be right, mate,” said Steve. “You’re the Rainman.”
Raymond the Ram was what I called Ray. People usually assume that to be a long term nickname, from childhood growing up on a farm. In fact, though, it was the nickname Ray earned shortly after he met Jennie. Such was Ray’s energy in pursuing Jennie, completely lovestruck, he dropped around a quarter of his body weight in a matter of weeks. The same as a Ram in rutting season.
You’ll sacrifice anything for the ones you fall for. Those you love. Lesson learned.
I can only hope that Raymoondoh likes this new nickname of mine, ‘Rainman’. At least it has a much greater sense of endearment than Déjà Poo.
