One of the few things I hate about eating at Mendocino Farms is that they needlessly ask for my name when I order.  I say “needlessly” because they distribute buzzers when customers place an order and the buzzer is how diners pick up their food.  Each time I go to MF, my name is always a topic of conversation.  They always make a big to-do out of the spelling, like, “Where does the ‘E’ go?” When I tell them to spell it however they think it should be spelled, they say, “No, I want to spell it the RIGHT way.”  Then, when I pick up my food, there’s a guy who calls me Ronald (as in Ronald Reagan) and laughs.  Hilarious. Believe it or not, I prefer to avoid gabbing about inane bullshit with people I don’t know.  Today, when they asked me my name, I wanted to play it safe and avoid all the unnecessary conversation.    When they asked my name, I replied, “Mark.”  My hand to God, the chick replied, “With a ‘C’ or a ‘K’?” Both.  I didn’t say “Mark,” I said “F*CK,” as in FML.