From a distance, I saw a young Asian female. She shuffled slowly toward the genius bar at the Stonestown Apple Store. Standing near the kids area that played animated games over and over again, I wanted to lunge her and declare, “JEN NG!”

Instead, I maintained my composure and moved my weight to foot to foot, craning to hear her soft voice speak to the check-in guy. “My iPhone is broken,” she said.

Doubt spread among my ears. It wasn’t Jen Ng, someone who had signed up for the 3:10 pm appointment and used my email address. A few days earlier, I was in a rage. How could someone use my email address again? To not only verify an apple id, but more importantly, to sign up for an Apple appointment. The rage rippled through my head muscles down to my shoulder muscles. In my mind, I imagined running up to her, grabbing her by the shoulders, and demanding that she stop using my email address for everything on the Internet, so help me God.

In all clarity, I knew that it was a minor mistake. This one probably would have been corrected easily. But it’s all the frustration I have been feeling as gmail has become prolific and everyone has been using it. At first, I thought that it was hilarious when I received an email about bank statements from Toronto. Then it was just amusing when a travel agent sent me airplane tickets in my name and some husband’s name for a destination cruise. Then it was almost sentimental when I received heartwarming emails from women in Hong Kong for a newly born infant diagnosed with Down syndrome.

Until it wasn’t of course. The annoyance happened when I was accidentally included in a mass email list for a tutoring group in Canada. At first, I politely requested that I was removed. But then I was not. I received reminders, doodle invitations, and new assignments. Anger flared and I sent very directed angry messages to be removed. Then I received dinner invitations and bachleorette invitations. At first, I again asked to be removed. Then in my following messages, I gave snarky reply about how I wish that I was invited, but sadly my name is the only thing that really matters. Whose fault was it really? I wish that I knew, because I wish that I could blame the person with my same name. But how can I blame the non-Jenn? How can I blame the people who have too misspelled my own name?

My war continued. In the Apple store, I stood stupidly right there near the guys with the check-in tablets. Waiting for someone to show up. But then I realized: if she scheduled the appointment with my email address, then this means that she never received a reminder or confirmation email. How would she have remembered to come? I argued with a genius about how I could contact this mysterious Jen Ng who was a no-show. “Just email her,” he said.

I scoffed, because I didn’t follow his logic. “But how can I email her if I don’t her email address?” I said. “Because she used my email address and as you know, I would be sending an email to myself. Do you understand what’s going on?”

The rage tipped over, and my blood pressure must have been going higher than its usual low calm level. I was impressed with the guy’s calm as he smiled. “Just schedule an appointment,” he said. “Let’s take a look for what we have.”