Follow-up Questions

 

Well, it's official.  The judge deemed it acceptable that I return to my birth-given last name of Graham.  Yes, I had to go to court.  Yes, I had to appear before a judge.  Shannon and I, along with my attorney (yes, I had an attorney), arrived at the courthouse at the required time.  We entered the courtroom and sat down.  There were four cases before mine.  The first two were attorneys closing estates, and both went quickly.  Two divorces came next, both contentious, one involving a life sentence in prison.  Then it was my turn.  My attorney and I walked to the front of the courtroom and sat down at a table.  This is how it went:

"I have the paperwork for the name change, Your Honor," my attorney said as he stood up and walked to the bench, handing the judge the papers.  He then returned to our table and looked at me.  "Are you changing your name to avoid debt?"

"No," I replied.  

The judge cleared her throat.  "This looks good," she said as she glanced over the paperwork.  "You can take this downstairs to the clerk, and she can get you a certified letter."

My attorney walked up to the bench, grabbed the papers, and nodded at me to follow him.  We left the courtroom, Shannon following us out.  That was it.  The entire procedure lasted a grand total of about 45 seconds.  

We went downstairs, gave the nice ladies at the desk the necessary papers, waited five minutes for the certified copies, and left the courthouse.  Done.  After two months of waiting for a court date and having to post a notice in the newspaper for thirty days announcing that I intended to change my name in case any debt collectors needed to find me, I finally got my last name back.  As a side note, if I really was changing my last name to escape debt, why oh why would I choose to go back to my birth name?  I was finally Heidi Graham.  Well, almost.

Next stop: the driver's license office.  I got an appointment the very next day, arrived at my allotted time, spent ten minutes with the man at the desk, and had my new temporary paper license.  Now I could go to the banks, the vehicle registration office, the utility companies, the insurance companies, etc etc etc.  

I started with my bank in Hamilton.  

"How can I help you?" the teller asked cheerfully.

"I need to do a name change on my account.  Can you help me with that?" I asked.

The teller's smile grew bigger.  "Yes!  Oh, yes!  A name change!"

No.  Oh, no.

"Congratulations!" she said, even more cheerfully.

Inwardly, I cringed.  Wow.  No one has congratulated me on my husband dying.  You, Ms. Bank Teller, are the first.  Interesting approach.  Most people offer the sympathy card.  No one has tried the 'congratulations' card.  I don't know if it's really that appropriate.

"What's the new name?" she asked.

"Graham," I replied.

"Are you getting married?" she asked excitedly.

I gave her a small smile.  "No," was all I offered.  

"Oh," she said.  This seemed to stump her.  She was quiet for a moment, then said, "Well, Graham is a great last name."

The bank in Darby was next.  Both Scott and I have banked there for years, and everyone that works there knows that he passed away.  I knew I would not have the same questions as I did in Hamilton.

Once again, I walked up to the teller.

"Hi, Heidi," she said, smiling.

"Hi.  I need to do a name change."  

"Ok," she replied.  No questions.  No congratulations.  Only filling out the necessary paperwork.  Easy peasy.  Until...

"What's the reason you are changing your name?" she asked.

I stared at her.  "Do you have to have a reason?"

She looked away, down, then at her screen.  "Yeah.  Headquarters requires I enter a reason.  They have boxes for things like marriage, divorce..."

"Do they have a box for 'my husband died'?" I asked, interrupting her.

She flinched.  "No," she said softly.  We were both quiet.  She cleared her throat.  "How about I just type in that you are returning to your maiden name."

"Perfect," I said.  

Next, I started calling utility companies and insurance companies.  None of the people I spoke with asked a single follow-up question.  They only told me what documents they needed, if any, and that my account was now updated with the name change.  Exactly as it should be.

Then I called my health insurance.  

"Hi, how can I help you today?" said the lady on the other end of the phone.

"I need to do a name change."

"Oh, great!  I can help you with that.  Are you getting married?"

No.  No I am not getting married, nor am I getting divorced.  Just change my name and STOP ASKING WHY.

"No," I replied.  

I could hear her typing.  "Ok, then did you get divorced?"

I almost threw my phone into the pond.  

"No," I said shortly.

More clickety-clackety of the keys.

"Why are you changing your name?"

"I'm going back to my maiden name."

"Any particular reason?"  Clickety-clackety, clickety-clackety.

"Because my husband died."

The keys stopped clacking.  Silence.  Then, "Oh.  Oh.  Oh my God.  I am so sorry.  My condolences to you, ma'am.  I am so sorry."

Why, why, why with the follow-up questions?  Why?  Can't you, customer service people, just accept that I am changing my name and move on?  Even the lady at the gas station asked me, when I showed her my ID, why I had a paper license.  I told her it was temporary because I am changing my name.  

"Oh!" she exclaimed.  "Are you getting married?"

"No," I said flatly.

"Ah," she nodded her head.  "The other one."

The other one?  I'm pretty sure you mean divorce, not death.  

Shannon and I were comparing notes on follow-up questions a few nights ago.  He has had similar experiences, but in a different manner.  His conversations have gone something like this:

"Hey, Shannon.  What have you been up to?"

"I've been tearing down the house."

"Your house?  What happened?"

This is where Shannon said he always wonders how far to go.  He usually replies with something like, "A bunch of trees fell on it in that storm in December."

Sometimes, the person will ask about the house itself, or how the clean-up is going, or ask about insurance.  Sometimes, though, the person will say something like, "Oh my God.  I hope no one was hurt."

Does death count as hurt?

I appreciate that people are trying to be polite or make small talk.  I also don't want to ruin someone's day.  Proceed cautiously with follow-up questions.  You may not get the answer you were expecting.