Okay, one last post about Vegas and then I’ll move on to current events.
Anyway, we split up since Chloe is a vegetarian and I went to the prime rib station. There I saw a chef guy in a big white hat slicing pieces of prime rib to order. And on his chest was a tag that read, “Carver.”
I actually flinched for a second, confused, and just instinctively blurted out, “Is ‘Carver’ your name or your job description?”
“It’s my name. How would you like your beef, sir?”
“Wait. Sorry for being so nosy, but is it your first name or your last name?”
“My first name. Would you like it medium rare or more well done?”
“So your parents named you Carver and you got a job as a carver. Isn’t that weird?”
“You’re holding up the line, sir.”
“I’m sorry. I’ll take a rare piece please.” But I couldn’t stop myself. “Do you think they assigned you the carving station because of your name, like as a joke?”
“Here’s your prime rib, sir.”
He placed the slice on my plate and that was it. He turned to the next customer and made it clear that he wasn’t going to be talking to me anymore.
On the way back to the table, I reminded myself that people have had their names their whole lives and it’s next to impossible to think of anything clever to say about it that they haven’t already heard a million times. Still, it did occur to me that if he married Shia LaBeouf, he’d be Carver LaBeouf.