When I was a kid, like 9 or so, we had this Korean housecleaner named Miss Chen, who had this husky voice and didn't speak English too well. Whenever she would call our house and leave a message, she would always, like clockwork, for over two years, begin it by saying, "Miss Becky. My name is Chen." Before we realized it might be a little racist (full disclosure: we never actually realized this), all of us took great pleasure in opening familial conversations with this phrase in poor attempt at her inimitable timbre.
So it was no small secret pleasure for me when the Asian woman in room 403 asked for her key, and I found her name on the computer and there it was, and I looked up at her, with a sly grin, and asked, carefully phrased and enunciated, "Your name is?"
"Chen," she complied, rather stoically.
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