"Yes, Mr Lawrie, I know," she said. Except that she called me 'Mr Lowrie', not 'Mr Lawrie'. I hate that, and I corrected her.
"Oh sorry, Mr Lowrie, I'll try to remember" In the course of the next five minutes, she called me 'Mr Lowrie' seven times.
"Karen," I said finally, "please get it right. My name rhymes with 'sorry', not with 'How now brown cow.'"
"Oh," she said, "sorry, Mr Lowrie."
She continued to mispronounce my name as 'Mr Lowrie' for a further two hours, but good managers don't execute their workers. Remarkably, she survived all the way to the end of the day.
As she got up to leave, I casually asked her what her own surname was.
"Oh, it's Karen Law – you know, as in 'against the law'?"
I waited until she had closed the door and assumed she'd set off down the corridor before I screamed.
Suddenly, Karen reappeared through the door, looking extremely anxious.
"Mr Lowrie, I heard you scream – are you OK?"
I buried my head in my hands and asked Karen to leave as soon as possible.
Karen didn't budge. "I'm sorry, Mr Lowrie. Was it something I said?"