Debbie Overmeyer
Once, for some official reason
or other, I asked a woman if her name
were "Debbie Overmeyer" though
I knew she was Debbie Overmeyer:
we worked at the same place,
but had just never met, officially.
No," she said. "I’’m not Debbie Overmeyer."
I smiled. ""I know you’’re Debbie Overmeyer.
We work at the same place. I’ve seen you
around. We’ve just never met, officially."
"No," she said, "you’re mistaken.
My name isn’t Debbie Overmeyer."
I stared. ""Why would you deny your name
is Debbie Overmeyer? Is it some sort
of reverse-narcissism that out-narcissisms
real narcissism, thereby rendering it
false narcissism, due to the new hegemony
of this fake-real reverse-narcissism?""
No," she said. "I just don’t like you."
Oh," I said. And that was the last
I ever saw of Debbie Overmeyer.
– Jim Cummins