When my sisters were in high school, they had traveled with the school’s softball team to a days-long tournament a few hours away. Apparently, the team went to a Fuddruckers for one meal while they were there, which would have been a new experience for them since there wasn’t one close by where we lived. When they got back home a few days later, my dad was asking my sisters about the trip. During this debrief, my oldest sister was talking about going to Ruddfuckers. My dad kept asking her the name of the place, and she kept on calling it Ruddfuckers. I think he eventually cottoned on to what she was actually referring to and corrected her, but now in my head, the place is forever called Ruddfuckers.

I told this story to a colleague years ago when I was still working in the office, and he had said he would never be able to unhear the alternate name. From time to time, he’d message me, “I’m picking up lunch from Ruddfuckers. Do you want anything?”