After high school I moved in with my grandmother. She lived in Santa Monica and my cousin who is a year older then I am lived there too. There was a guy across the street who was always out working on his car/boat/motorcycles usually with his shirt off. I walked to Santa Monica College every other day and would see him many times a week.
One day he asked me what my name was, I said "Nick". The conversation moved on to the weather or some other inane thing people talk about when they don't really know each other.
From that conversation on, for the next two years, the guy called me "Mitch". Now this wouldnt have been so bad if I was the only one who knew that he called me Mitch. However, my cousin would sometimes walk with me or we would be getting in the car together to get lunch or dinner and the
neighbor would say "Hey Cousin, hey Mitch, how you doin?".
My cousin turned to me and said "Did he just call you Mitch?".
"Yes" I replied.
"Why does he think your name is Mitch?"
"I'm not really sure but its been happening for so long now I do not want to make him look like a fool and correct him"
"Ha ha ha ha"
My cousin then proceeded to tell all of his friends (whom I was friendly with) this small story, so whenever we walked outside my grandmothers house they would start calling me Mitch.
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