I met a bloke named Barbie, or so I thought. 

A reminder to make sure you always hear somebody’s name correctly. 

I was watching a local game of footy when this tall, athletic looking fella rolled up and stood nearby. 

‘Woah, these guys don’t even wear padding,’ he said. 

He had an American accent, so I asked where it was from. 

‘New York. I’m here for a month on business. I could hear all these whistles and was wondering what they were. So this is the game you guys play out here?’

I confirmed this, held out my hand and introduced myself. He shook it and told my his name, ‘Barbie.’ 

I’d never met a bloke named Barbie before. He didn’t look like a Barbie. He looked more like a Daniel, or a Jack. 

I thought Barbie may have been short for something but was too afraid to ask, so instead asked several questions about New York, politely including his name as I did.

‘What part of New York are you from Barbie? What sports do you like?’

He didn’t have much interest in the game we were watching, and appeared to be just walking by, so expressed his well wishes and began to move on. 

‘Nice to meet you Barbie,’ I said. ‘Safe travels back to your homeland.’

He took three steps away before he stopped, turned back, and said, ‘I’ve gotta ask, are you making fun of my accent?’

It confused me why he was asking as I’d spoken in my natural Australian accent the whole time. 

‘No, not at all. Sorry if I gave you that impression.’

‘It’s just, you kept calling me Barbie, as if you were mocking the way I say my name.’ 

This didn’t make things any clearer; I was still in WTF mode. But eager to ensure we parted ways on good terms. 

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to… I just wasn’t sure if it was a nickname, or it was short for something,’ I explained. 

‘Well my name is Robert, but no one ever calls me that. Have a nice day.’ 

I stood there wondering if his name was Robert, why would everyone call him Barbie?

Then I realised.

I’m such a bonehead sometimes.