Her Name Wasn't Lisa
Token Tales — Reflections on invisibility, presence, kindness, and what it means to be noticed through small handmade notes.
I'm in Sacramento this weekend for my daughter's volleyball tournament — almost 600 people across 12 courts, and behind all of it, a small army no one really sees: wristband checkers, snack vendors, custodians, medics, food truckers.
Between matches, I started going up to them with little painted tokens — a thank you, a name written on the back.
Ben made the most delicious tacos and told me five times in the short 30 seconds we interacted how much he appreciated being appreciated. Amy greeted every single person who walked by with "Aloha!" — hundreds of times a day, and she meant it every time. When she said “Mahalo” to me, it came from the heart.
Then I got to the medic table.
"What's your name?" I asked, pen ready.
She hesitated. "Lisa," she said.
I started writing it on the back of the token I’d painted her, and she interrupted: “What is this?” I held up the painting I’d made and said, “Oh I just made a little something to thank you.”
"Oh my gosh! My name is actually Sarah. I say Lisa first because if someone's coming up to ask my name, I figure they're about to file a complaint. Easier if it's not really me."
She'd built herself a small shield out of a fake name — a way to let the complaint land on someone who didn't exist.
I told her it was such a sad commentary on our society … she agreed and then said, “Well, no one’s ever wanted to give me a note of thanks even when I haven’t helped them.”
Brief interactions, all three of them. But they're a reminder that the person behind the table is never just the role — snack vendor, greeter, medic. They're carrying tacos they love, a greeting they mean every time, or a name they've learned to hide.
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Received a token? I'd love to hear where we met and what stayed with you.
