Are you a Michael-Not-Mike?

Michael-Not-Mike is a bit different from the other guys I've written about, but only because I found him in a bar.

Like every other guy, Michael-Not-Mike seemed ok at first. Cute. Nice smile. Until I called him Mike. Here's how it went down.

Michael-Not-Mike: Hey, how's it going?

Me: Pretty good. How 'bout yourself?

Michael-Not-Mike: Very well, thanks. What brings you here tonight?

Me: Well, my girls came into town tonight so we could go see the Cubs/Nats game. And we headed here afterwards.

Michael-Not-Mike: Oh yeah, how was the game?

Me: Sucked. The Cubs lost.

Michael-Not-Mike: Cubs fan huh?

Me: Yeah.

Michael-Not-Mike: I'm Michael.

Me: It's nice to meet you Mike.

Michael-Not-Mike looks at Me as if just having been called baby killer

Michael-Not-Mike: (fuming) No. It's MICHAEL.

Me: (caught off guard) Oh. Sorry Michael. No one ever calls you Mike?

Michael-Not-Mike: No. Exits stage left

All right. So maybe I shouldn't have taken the liberty of calling him Mike. But is it really that big of a deal? And if a little thing like being called Mike gets him all riled up, he's definitely going to be a Scott Peterson someday.