Life is full of difficult choices: Brown or white toast with your cooked breakfast; attend a Justin Bieber concert or pour liquid nitrogen in your ears; go on the bouncy castle at your kid’s birthday party or have a few drinks first! Tough choices!
Today, though, I want to give you an entirely different choice. Before I do that, let me tell you a story, as I take you back two and a half decades…
The year was 1998. I was working my first full-time job on the telephone help desk of an accounting software company. Calls arrived quickly, and support staff like me were required to take customers’ details and solve their problems in a timely manner.
Looking back on my time there, one particular call stands out amongst all the others. Here's how it began:
Me: Good morning. Can I please take your customer number?
Caller: Sure, it's XYZ.
Me: Thanks. Let me bring up your details...
At this point, the computer returned the customer's name and address information. And, at the very top, listed as his surname in all capitals, was...
‘DEATH’.
I sat bolt upright in my seat. Was this a sign that the Grim Reaper was here for me?
Trying to hold it together, and eager not to offend the man by pronouncing his name the OBVIOUS way, I took a deep breath and threw the gauntlet back at him: “Can I take your name, please?”
“De - Ath”, was the reply.
Ah yes, of course. He pronounced it “De-Ath”, not “DEATH”. We’d just entered an episode of Keeping Up Appearances with Hyacinth 'Bucket'.
Now, there were many questions I could have asked at this point:
Do you ever get strange looks when booking flights or hotel rooms?
What’s your favourite Queen hit - 'Another One Bites the Dust' or ‘Who Wants to Live Forever’?
If you sit next to a bar of Dairy Milk, is it Death by Chocolate?
Do you always like to have the final word?
Sadly, I wasn’t quick-thinking enough to come up with any of these responses. Instead, I remained entirely professional and helped him to fix his computer. And, for the rest of the call, I was super careful not to mispronounce his surname (just in case he was the Grim Reaper after all).
Coming back to the present
Bringing you back to 2024. Last week, I was sitting in a cafe sipping an oat milk latte (I’m allergic to cow’s milk - don’t judge me!). As I enjoyed my drink, someone was introduced on the radio with a surname that immediately caught my attention — 'Bland.' The name struck me as similarly unfortunate, albeit in a completely different way. Being reminded of the 1998 phone call, I started wondering - would I rather be named Death or Bland?
As you can imagine, with a slightly obsessive mind, I've given this question way too much thought. To begin with, I tried to imagine them as Mr Men characters.
If Mr. Bland looks a bit like this…
Then, Mr. Death should surely look like this…
I know what you’re thinking - little kids would love this book! I really don’t know why it hasn’t been produced. Here’s a possible first-page draft:
In the shadowy depths of Gloomsville, where sunlight dared not venture and laughter had long since departed, lived Mr. Death. His pale, skeletal fingers clutched his scythe with a chilling grip as he glided silently through the fog. One dreary afternoon, he arrived at the bright yellow house of Mr. Happy, the town's only beacon of cheer. With a sinister grin, Mr. Death knocked on the door, the sound echoing like the toll of a funeral bell. Mr. Happy opened the door, his perpetual smile fading as the cold, hollow eyes of Mr. Death met his gaze. "Good day, Mr. Happy," whispered Mr. Death, his voice dry and threatening. "It's time to carve that smile off your face."
My verdict
After mulling it over for some [too much] considerable time, I've come to a conclusion. I'd rather be called Mr. Death. Why? Well, it's a topic of conversation - an ice breaker - it's easy to laugh about being Mr. Death. In fact, combined with a dark sense of humour, it's gold dust for cold-call situations:
Cold caller: "Hi, I'm Alex from O2. What's your name?"
Me: "Death. Should I add you to my list?…"
*END OF CALL*
The death knell
We can take this fun a step further. If I were Mr. Death, I can imagine this obvious question coming up:
So, how do you want to leave this world, Mr. Death?
Well, thank you for asking so politely, and I do have an answer. When it comes to exiting this world, I'm a big fan of the quick and unexpected. So, naturally, my perfect departure would involve being run over by a milk float. Why? Well, I could then have this inscribed on my gravestone:
"Here lies Alastair Death. He was allergic to milk."
I’d set a standard for dairy-based humour!
Bland
I’ve made the case for Death - it makes life so interesting! Let's contrast it and imagine you're Mr/Mrs. Bland. Where do you take that? It's like you must instantly make yourself more interesting to compensate for the big beige elephant in the room. It doesn't have the shock factor of DEATH; it's just bland!
So, that's my opinion. It’s Death for me, just not literally. What's your choice - Death or Bland?
Alastair