Why I may get my own name badge of honour
EVERYBODY these days seems to wear a name badge to work.
My wife has even spotted students on their way home from college with name tags in Huddersfield bus station.
They come as lapel badges or plastic ID cards that can be worn on a chain around the neck. The badges, that is, not students. They can be seen everywhere from fast food shops to factories to offices.
It’s amazing that society managed to survive for so long without them, considering the basic name tag, consisting of a sticker on which was written: Hello, my name is Fred, only originated in America in the 1950s as an ice breaker at conventions. Mind you, if they were worn by everybody they would save no end of embarrassment for those of us who occasionally suffer from memory lapse and have conversations with folk we think we know.
In London’s crowded Leicester Square late one afternoon, after a business meeting, my eyes locked on to those of another chap in mutual recognition.
“What on earth are you doing here?”
“I’m on my way to the theatre. You?”
“Been to see my agent.”
He was actor and satirist John Bird and we parted in friendship and good humour, even though we didn’t know each other. We just thought we did. My wife wears a name badge in the Kirkwood Hospice Shop in Honley and I was required to wear an ID card on a silver chain when the Examiner offices were located in Queen Street South.
Being without one is like being in a lesser category of life. Perhaps I should get my own made.
Companies advertise on the internet that they are available at bargain prices. Just choose your name and message: “Denis Kilcommons, Superstar”might be too obvious and could invite dispute. “Lord Kilcommons” has a nice ring to it: Short and to the point. A bit like me.