Corporate Freezer Burn: Name Plates

For years, we had worked in relative anonymity as we were never given name plates. The function of the corporate name plate is to allay the need to ask where an employee sits, or to prevent the managerial embarrassment of forgetting an employee's name while introducing the new hires. Before we got name plates, we would prop up fast food toys, like the Jack In The Box antenna ball, or plastic candy dispensers or sock puppets to establish our corporate identities.

One day, the company president walked through our hallway. He stopped and asked if I was "Jack", for I was identified by the styrofoam antenna ball attached to a bent paper clip and looped into the fast-mount wall rails. I am not Jack.

The next day, we were informed that we were getting name plates. We were given a catalog and told to select a suitable font such that everyone's name would fit legibly, and we were to select a material that would match the carpet and cubicles and our easily-cleaned Formica "desks". We selected ocean grey and midnight blue to match the midnight-ocean-marble Formica. It was perfect. Except that we already know each others' names.

I have a strange history with name tags. I was my wife's guest at a somewhat exclusive engagement at a Los Angeles museum. There I met a gregarious California television personality, Huell Howser. He stood out to me mostly for his Hawaiian shirt, adrift in a sea of sport coats and ties; I wore a tie under my ubiquitous leather jacket. When I was introduced to Huell, I immediately commented on his fabulous shirt, and mused out loud about how much more comfortable I'd have been in one. He instantly admonished me for not choosing what I liked.

"My daddy always told me just to make sure that your hair is combed and your fingernails are clean. Now, next time I see you, you better be wearing that Hawaiian shirt." This was not a grumpy admonishment; Huell is a diplomat with an unflappably straightforward approach to the world and an infectious appreciation for its details. His speech is a mixture of Tennessee and California, he is part football player, part historian, and his enthusiasm for people and places is something to look upon with unmatchable admiration. Huell placed himself somewhere between sibling and parent, and I instantly felt at home in our conversation.

Article Author: Brian Sorrell

Brian Sorrell programs computers, writes philosophy, loves bicycles, and is soon-to-be a father.

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