“Gary on Line 3!”
Name Mayhem, Autofill, and AI Madness (Exhibit A: The Soundproof Steam Scene Scandal)
🎬 Episode Title: “The Name Game: Rhymes, Crimes, and Steamy Misfires”
I’m Gary.
Not Barry. Not Larry. Not Terry, Mary, or Cary.
And no—I’m definitely not Gart.
(We’ll get to that.)
You might think name mix-ups are harmless. A chuckle. A quick correction.
But for me? It’s been a full-blown identity crisis spanning decades, office buildings, inboxes, and now… artificial intelligence.
And trust me—it’s not just annoying. It’s downright cinematic.
We’re talking Law & Order cold opens meets Seinfeld awkward silences—with a little AI word salad and a surprise HR file tossed in for good measure.
So let’s call the court to order:
The People v. Gary: A Five-Part Series in Mistaken Identity and Mild Digital Chaos
🗂 Exhibit A: The Soundproof Steam Scene Scandal
Let’s begin with the steamy one. The headline act.
An email landed in my inbox. From Jennifer, Subject line? Unremarkable. First line?
“Hey Gar Bear…”
Now, “Gar Bear” was a nickname I actually had with someone I was dating. I smiled—thinking maybe this was a playful message.
Then came the second line:
“I’m coming to your office today. Are the walls soundproof?”
Cue dramatic pause.
Cue eyebrow raise.
Cue me suddenly reading like a man on a mission.
But then—a typo. A small one, but from someone who never made typos.
That’s when it hit me.
This wasn’t meant for me.
It was meant for another Gary. A Gary I knew. A Gary she was definitely with—and, for the record, not the one I was dating. In real life, we were both seeing women who happened to share the same first name. (No, it wasn’t Jennifer—but let’s just call them that to protect the innocent… and my sanity.) Two Garys. Two "Jennifers." My head was already spinning trying to keep track—like some romantic version of Who’s on First?, but with more confusion and fewer baseball uniforms.
I hovered over the reply button. I had thoughts. Petty, poetic, spicy thoughts.
Instead, I hit delete.
Some things are better left unread. Or at least, unforwarded.
📎 Exhibit B: The HR File That Wasn’t Mine
Soon after Exhibit A, I received another email—this time from Human Resources.
It came with a PDF attachment. I assumed it was a generic policy update. So I opened it.
Nope.
It was a performance review. Personal. Detailed. And very much not mine.
It was for another Gary. Same department. Same HR contact. Wrong inbox.
Reading it felt like watching a stranger’s therapy session unfold. You know you should look away, but curiosity keeps you hooked like a bad reality show binge at 2 a.m.
Halfway through paragraph two, my inner voice finally yelled:
“This ain’t yours. Shut it down.”
So I did.
I called HR. She was mortified. I was gracious. The other Gary? Still employed.
Let’s chalk it up to a harmless fumble and file it under:
Exhibit B: Whoopsie of the Year.
📬 Exhibit C: The Bonus Check Caper
Now rewind to the 1990s—before email, when contracts were carbon copies and bonuses arrived on actual paper.
I worked in sales. If I sold something—or referred a sale—I got a bonus. But the form had to be signed. By hand.
Now, anyone who’s seen my handwriting knows… it’s unique. Somewhere between “hieroglyphics” and “last-minute Jeopardy answer.” Which, it turns out, came in handy.
One day, the company owner congratulated me on earning $475 in bonuses in a single day.
“Wait… I didn’t make any sales yesterday.”
We pulled the paperwork. My name. My signature.
Except—it wasn’t mine.
“That’s not my signature,” I said. Then I showed them my actual one, complete with the little flourish I always used.
The room got quiet.
Accounting called the boss.
Then… they called the police.
Turns out, a fellow manager had been forging contracts and cashing in under my name.
He was charged with fraud. I was vindicated.
Case closed.
Dun dun.
📞 Chapter 1: The Dealership of Doom
(a.k.a. Name Hunger Games – 1980s Edition)
But let’s go back to where it all started: small-town Illinois. Late 1980s.
Teenage me, working at a car dealership.
I did everything—washed cars, delivered parts, even chauffeured the owner around in a GMC Sierra. And because I was always moving around the lot, I got paged… constantly.
The intercom would crackle:
“Gary on line 3!”
The problem?
There wasn’t just one -ary.
There was Barry.
Larry.
Terry.
Mary.
And yes—even Cary.
It was a phonetic disaster.
Sometimes I’d rush inside, pick up the line, and get chewed out by a furious customer.
Other times, Barry would yell across the shop:
“Gary, I think this one’s yours!”
It was chaos. But it was also training.
Training for life. For listening. For staying calm when someone thinks you’re Larry and they’re mad about a muffler.
Looking back, it was like attending De-Escalation Academy… taught by upset GMC Jimmy owners.
🧪 Chapter 2: Hello, My Name Is… Gart?
Fast forward to 2010.
I’m at a retreat. You know the type—flip charts, over-caffeinated name tags, awkward icebreakers.
We all had to fill out one of those “Hello, my name is…” stickers.
Now, I’ve been typing since 1987. My handwriting? Somewhere between “doctor’s prescription” and “last-minute ransom note.”
So when I wrote “Gary,” my “Y” was apparently moonlighting as a “T.”
The rest of the day?
“Nice to meet you, Gart.”
“Gart, what a fascinating name!”
“Are you… German?”
Someone asked that sincerely.
For a second, I thought maybe I had a new identity. Something mysterious. Continental.
Maybe I was Gart, the elusive architect from Düsseldorf.
Then I looked down at my tag.
BAM. Betrayed by my own pen.
And just like that… Gart was born.
To this day, I still get the occasional “Hey Gart!” message from people who were there. And honestly? I love it. To this day, Gart lives somewhere in a Secret Society in the Finger Lakes in New York State.
🤖 Chapter 3: Autofill Madness
(a.k.a. The Glitch That Keeps On Giving)
Let’s talk email.
If I am in someone’s contact list and have more than one “Gary” and they are typing fast?
Congratulations—I’m probably getting someone else’s message.
Over the years, I’ve received:
Wedding invites I wasn’t supposed to get
Confidential job offers (tempting)
A heartfelt message about a dog named Waffles crossing the rainbow bridge
Yes. Waffles.
For a moment, I wondered if it was CIA code for a covert drop.
Or maybe just a Lewis Black-level non sequitur:
“If it weren’t for my horse, I wouldn’t have spent that year in college…”
(Don’t think about it too long. Blood will shoot out your nose.)
🤯 Chapter 4: A.I. or A.Why?
Autofill is like your well-meaning aunt who insists on setting you up with someone just because you both like tacos.
You type “G”—and boom. I’m your guy now.
Even if we haven’t talked since the Bush administration, I’m suddenly your “go-to Gary.”
Worse? These emails always sound so confident:
“Hi Gary, following up on our strategy call…”
Strategy call? Buddy, I’ve been on vacation at Wrigley Field. Didn’t you see my auto-responder? It said, “Gone catching fly balls and bad hot dog decisions—back soon.”
🧩 Chapter 5: Name Games & Digital Identity
All of this—“Gary on line 3,” Gart, Exhibit A through C, and the AI chaos—isn’t just comedy gold.
It’s a reminder.
A reminder that no matter how advanced the tech gets, we’re still gloriously, hilariously human.
Sure, Autofill knows your birthdate, your favorite coffee order, and that you once looped every 1980s power ballad during a breakup.
It finishes your sentences. Suggests your tone. Slips in emojis you didn’t mean to use.
And just like HAL from 2001: A Space Odyssey, it’s very sorry, Dave... but it thinks it knows better.
The problem?
Sometimes it doesn’t.
And just like Dave, we end up frustrated—staring at a message we definitely didn’t mean to send.
That’s why we still need to pause, proofread, and not just plug-and-play whatever the machine gives us.
Because no matter how smart the tools get, they still can’t tell the difference between helpful… and hilariously wrong.
Maybe that’s okay.
Maybe that’s why we still have stories to tell.
⚖️ Closing Arguments
To all the Barrys, Marys, Terrys, and fellow Garys out there:
I feel your rhyming pain.
I probably have your emails.
And I may have answered your phone call in 1988.
To the woman from that retreat who was captivated by “Gart”:
Thank you. You gave me a name, an alter ego, and a legacy.
And to the digital chaos gremlins, autofill mishaps, and AI-generated word salads?
I rest my case.
(Until Exhibit D inevitably shows up… probably in my inbox.)
🪶 One Last Thing from This Silly Goose…
If you're wondering, “Does this guy always write about rogue name tags and inbox identity crises?”—the answer is: sometimes.
But I also write about real history, policy, baseball, transportation, and all the strange-but-true stories in between. Some are goose-worthy. Others go deep. All of them are rooted in lived experience, curiosity, and the occasional facepalm.
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⚾ Pete Rose, Cooperstown, Forgotten Summer in Geneva, NY... – Addiction. Owning Mistakes. Forgiveness.
🍌 Disrupting the Diamond – Banana Ball, Disney’s Legacy & the Future of Baseball
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✍️ Writer. ⚾ Cubs Fan. 📜 History Buff. 👣 Transportation Nerd.
📢 Policy & Equity Advocate. 🧠 Silly Goose. 📚 Collector of Lost Stories.