Isn’t it funny that we can all see certain addresses and know without much of a doubt that those places are either in our realm of life, financial standing, and/or social status or they aren’t? For example, when we see the address, # 2 Seacliff Drive, it conjures up a much different place in our heads than 4236 145th Avenue, Apartment #102. I came to the conclusion as a very young person that the more numbers an address has, the less prestige that place would have.
For example, I loved living at 54 Santa Barbara. I also liked 602 Quintara. Those were fine and upstanding addresses. I was never as thrilled giving 8932 34th Avenue, Unit #1722 because it of course doesn’t have the same ring. I had a boyfriend who lived at #9 Elmwood Place. Now you just know a lot about him from that address don’t you? (Or at least you think you do.)
When I was a young girl, we had prefixes to our telephone numbers. Ours’ was Plaza, the PL being the first two numbers, translated to seventy-five. Now for some reason Plaza-5 indicated a more desirable number than my number which was Plaza-6, or 756. My Aunt and Uncle in Oklahoma were a Melrose prefix. I never knew if the number following was a “good number” or a “bad number” since I didn’t live there. I just knew the Plaza-6 was kind of a lower middle class number, unlike the “classy” Plaza-5, or 755. Of course, in our same physical area was the prefix “Wyman”, WY, or 99, and let me tell you, that was worse than the Plaza by a long shot. (Understand, none of this is based on anything other than the word Plaza sounding more upscale to me than Wyman. Why? Hell if I know.)
It could be the same with names. Does Hampton Thurston, IV, tell you something? It does me. It’s a sure bet that Hampton is not in the same category as Jerry Wilcox, isn’t it? Or for that matter, I always envied the Brookes, the Paiges, and the Laurens knowing they were different from the Susans, the Sandys, the Bettys and the Lindas.
Even with nicknames, Buffy and Tad are not in the same league as Patty, Peaches and Slick, now are they? In fact, I could make it a rule to never date a guy whose nickname was Slick. (On the other hand, men seem to gravitate toward women nicknamed “Peaches.”) If I were an exotic dancer, I would call myself “Peaches Duvall.” Has a ring to it, doesn’t it? Now if I could just get past that four digit address I’d be in business.
