Sign Here Please

There are certain types of people I’ll never be.

I’ll never be the type of person whose hangers all face the same way in the wardrobe. I’ll also never be one of those people who hunt down their bank’s ATM to save $2 when there’s already an ATM right in front of them. And I’ll never that person with a nice, elegant, consistent signature.

You know the ones. Those signatures that are easily identifiable as that person’s name but at the same time look like calligraphy combined with renaissance art. The ones that loop and swirl across the ‘sign here’ line with all the grace and subtlety of a swan gliding on the surface of a winter’s lake. It looks so effortless for these people, so simple, not a moment’s concentration crossing their faces – just a smug smile as they wait for their cooing admirers to say, ‘oh, what a beautiful signature you have!’

Mine, on the other hand, looks like a two-year-old has shoved a ballpoint pen into their fat fist and attacked the white walls in a raging tantrum.

It starts off okay: MLuby, simply written, a slight italic to the font. But when I get to the y, it’s like I have a moment of self consciousness where I decide it’s simply not decorative enough so my hand jerks and quivers with the intention of creating some kind of elegant flourish but what it really looks like is I’ve tried to cross the entire thing out because I want to start again.

It’s not surprising. I’ve never had the patience for nice handwriting. Maybe it’s a Gen-Y thing. I guess I assumed for some reason when designing it that it wouldn’t last long. That I could change it whenever I wanted, that I could practice a better one later. But, like the email address I created in Year 6 (hotstuff99@hotmail.com), it’s not as easy to be rid of as I thought. Once people have it, either your email address (friends and family) or your signature (the bank, Vic Roads) you’re unlikely to go to the effort of changing it.

Often, you actually just get used to it and forget entirely what an embarrassment it is until it’s brought to your attention. This happened recently when seeing my boyfriend’s signature - yes, it's one of those ones – and him seeing mine (‘what is that?’)

But still, it never crossed my mind to try and create another one, which was a huge mistake because on a recent trip to the bank to open a savings account I had a rare opportunity.

“Oh, would you like to do that again?” It was the bank teller. She wasn’t being rude. She genuinely thought I’d crossed my own signature out.  

Me: “Oh, no thanks. That’s just my signature.”

Her, going red: “Oh! Oh, okay. Well, you can change it you know? You just have to fill out a form.”

Me: “… really?”

Her: “Absolutely. Here it is.” The form appeared magically from a chasm below the desk. “Just sign your new signature down there.”

Panic. It all happened so quickly. Talk about being put on the spot. Think like a swan, think like a calligrapher, think like a renaissance artists.

Well, I didn't think it was possible but I did it. It’s worse. It's like a seismic graph trying to spell out an SOS call.

But I’m not going back. I’m not changing it again. I’ve accepted it. I can’t pretend to be one of those elegant signature people with the smug smile and the cooing admirers. I’m just me, MLuby with the seizure-like flourish on the y.