In America, a stranger will rename you in a single breath, and you are simply expected to come when called.
I went to eat at a busy restaurant. A young man at the front asked for my name, to mark my place in line. I gave it the weight it has carried for eight hundred years.
"Nobunaga."
He smiled, nodded, and wrote it down with great confidence. Then he read it back to me, to be sure he had honored it correctly.
"Perfect. Banana, party of one."
Banana. He had heard my name, held it a moment, and returned to me something rounder and more cheerful. To refuse the name a host gives is to refuse his welcome. I bowed. I was Banana now.
Then he handed me a small black disc, said it would "light up and buzz" when my table was ready, and turned to the next guest as though he had not just placed a living thing in my hands.
I held it in both palms, the way one holds a small sleeping beast that may wake. I found a place to stand. I waited, ready.
It woke.
It screamed. It flashed red. It leapt and shook in my hands like a captured spirit demanding release. A lesser man would have dropped it. I did not. I gripped it, steady, looked into its blinking lights, and told it, in a low voice, that its time had come. Then I carried it back to the host with both hands, the way one returns a hawk to its master.
He took it without looking and shouted across the entire room.
"BANANA! Party of one, your table's ready!"
A hundred strangers turned. I rose. I crossed that floor as Banana, spine straight, chin level, a man answering to his name. A child pointed at me. I gave the child a small bow. He had recognized me.
All through the meal they kept me. "How's it tasting, Banana?" "More water, Banana?" The check, when it came, said Banana, and thanked me for visiting. By the end the whole staff knew me. They waved as I left. "Night, Banana!"
So tell me honestly.
For eight hundred years my clan answered to one name. Tonight I answered to a fruit, calmed a screaming relic in my bare hands, and ate among people who were glad I came.
When the little disc lights up, is the table truly mine, or am I only keeping it warm for the next Banana?
Because I have already decided to return on Friday, and to ask, very humbly, for the same disc.
The whole 82-0 phenomenon reinforces that whole bit about how the only thing a bunch of dudes need in order to have a good time is to sit around announcing the names of a bunch of old athletes.
You think Wemby's run is impressive?
In June of 2011, JJ Barea—5 and a half feet tall—locked down LeBron James in the Finals and impregnated Miss Universe. We may never see another run like that.
May 30, 2016:
- Thunder lose by 8 in Game 7 of the WCF to Harrison Barnes on his birthday
May 30, 2026:
- Thunder lose by 8 in Game 7 of the WCF to Harrison Barnes on his birthday
Bizarre
I thought SA-OKC would be the next great rivalry (✅) and I thought the marquee player matchup in that rivalry would be Wemby vs Chet (❎). I would like to formally apologize to everyone for that miscalculation. I didn’t factor in Chet being a 7’3 poodle into my equation.