I realize that I was given a unique name by my parents. Partly for the allure of a biblical reference (albeit an Old Testament one, and I’m not Jewish). Partly because, with a last name like Miller, you have to stand out.

Normally this isn’t a hindrance, it’s a help. I don’t meet many other Seths and the ones I do meet are usually fairly cool, a la that Family Guy dude.

Except tonight. Tonight I ordered a pizza.

Maybe it was the fact that I ordered from a cell phone. Or possibly the person on the other end had never heard the name before. Either way, the label on the pizza box when I picked up my pepperoni pie read “Chef”. Not Beth or Steph or Jeff, which are common mis-hearings of my beloved moniker.

Nope.

Chef.

I bid you adieu.