Started from the bottom, now we’re here.

That thought ran through the mind of second-year Commerce/Law student, Mark Wilson (20), as he ordered his cappucino at Merlo’s, and heard the barista utter those fateful, powerful words.

‘It’s Mark, right?’

With that simple recognition of his name, that simple recollection of a simple proper noun, that barista had made Mark’s day. Mark was now convinced that he had ‘made it.’ Rushing over to his friends, Mark couldn’t wait to share with them the good news. ‘They knew my name!! You see this coffee here - it was made by people who knew my name!’ The mild ambivalence of Mark’s friends did nothing to dull his runaway excitement.

‘They must serve, like, hundreds of thousands of customers per day. And they remembered me - me! Little Marky Wilson! Guys, I don’t mean to jinx it, but seriously. I think I’ve made it.’

As his friends started discussing other topics, Mark’s imagination ran wild. He wondered if he should start getting people to call him BMOC - short for ‘Big Man On Campus.’ Thinking that might be a little too obvious, he settled for an attempted nickname of ‘Big Mark.’ After all, he was a pretty big deal now - the folk at Merlo’s knew who he was, and they don’t dish that out to just anyone.

But Mark’s dreams were about to come crashing down around his ears. As he gazed upon his coffee cup, supposedly a symbol of triumph, he realised one devastating thing.

They had spelt his name ‘Marc.’

‘Fucking bullshit,’ he muttered, his friends no longer listening to him at all. ‘They’ll pay for this… oh, they’ll ALL pay.’

Intriguing. We’ll follow this story as it continues to develop.