I frequently use pseudonyms in my columns. To protect the innocent, of course. And the guilty — who tend to be litigious. The pseudonyms can be weird, so I don't pick some poor soul's actual name. In one of the first "Slightly Off-Kilter Columns," I mentioned my high school guidance counselor asking me what I wanted to do with my life, when, at 15, the only thing I really wanted to do was have sex with Krissy Caperson. Or, failing that, with virtually anyone else.

Krissy Caperson was not the real name of the young lady in question. It was not even the original alias that appeared in the article. For that, I came up with an unlikely alias, using an Armenian surname and an Irish first name. I even Googled it and got nothing. But this is America — even if some people don't want it to be — and shortly after publication, I heard from a young woman with that exact Irish/Armenian name.

She was applying for scholarships and now, whenever a scholarship committee Googled her, all they got was that she'd been the inspiration for my teenage lust. That's something I would have found well worth a scholarship back in high school, but, strangely, it wasn't an accolade she currently considered all that helpful.

There was no way to tell from my column that the incident was ancient history, and that rather than being her high school classmate, I was old enough to be her ... well, her considerably older friend. (Or maybe her great-grandmother's.) So, online and in subsequent print versions, I rechristened the apple of my high school eye as Krissy Caperson. So far, no actual Krissy Caperson has come forward to complain.

Likewise, no complaints yet from Hank Halstik, Blankety Blank, Mr. Cuddly Face, Gertrude Garasanov, Benito Mussolini, Beren Wood, The Excelsior Pretencia Grande Hotel, The Bank of Negligence and Dereliction, East Cow Flop, Wyoming, R. Lancelot Krelboing or Mr. Marvelous. Mr. Marvelous' original alias was Mr. Wonderful, which worked a bit better. Then, I discovered there's actually a business person/TV star who calls himself Mr. Wonderful. I'm sure he is. The guy in my column, not so much.

For several years I myself used an alias of sorts with the post office. The publisher of one of my books went out of business. (Hard to believe, I know.) With individual copies retailing for $69.95 and a small post office close by, I decided to sell them myself. I packaged the first book and gave it to the one local mail clerk to determine the postage.

"What's in it?" he asked, hefting it suspiciously. As a clue, "Book Rate" was stamped in bright red ink on both sides.

"It's a 1957 Lincoln convertible," I almost said, but didn't. Oddly, much of the world finds my sarcasm less hilarious than I do. So, I simply said, "It's a paperback."

"In that case," the clerk announced, "you can't send it book rate."

"A paperback book can't be sent book rate?" the old guy behind me in line asked helpfully.

"No," the clerk explained, in order to be sent book rate, it had to be bound matter. The old guy behind me gave a startled laugh. And no matter how many times either one of us explained that a paperback book was, in fact, bound matter, that bound matter was kind of the definition of a book, the clerk insisted that paperbacks could not be mailed book rate. "It's only for bound matter."

So, I waited a couple of days, repacked the book and wrote "Book Rate — bound matter" on it. When I handed it to the clerk, he glared at it suspiciously and asked if it was a paperback. I said, "It's bound matter. I guarantee it." And that's how I sent my books from then on. The clerk's name, by the way, was Octavius Farington Hemplewincel, Jr. Find me one of those and I'll send you a 1957 Lincoln convertible. Or a free book.

Check out Barry Maher's dark humor supernatural thriller, "The Great Dick: And the Dysfunctional Demon" on Amazon. Sign up for his Substack at www.barrymaher.com.

To find out more about Barry Maher and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.

Photo credit: Aaron Burden at Unsplash