Call Me Ricky

I've done it again.
   A while back I posted about a predicament entirely of my own making. Seems one of my neighbors started calling me 'Dan' and I never corrected him, figuring that there was no way we'd live near each other long enough for that to be an issue. Fast forward six years and Bob was still calling me 'Dan' and I had let it go on so long that I couldn't correct him without it becoming obvious that I was negligent, dismissive prick.
   It's happening again.
   At work there's a lady - whose name I do not know, and I'm fairly certain we've never been formally introduced - who called me Richard. She did this in passing a few weeks ago and I wasn't certain she was talking to me. So I let it slide.
   Then she did it again a week or so later. Again, not looking at me, but I was the only male in the room so unless 'Richard' is a mouse in someone's pocket she was talking to me.
   She did it again Monday. Richard. Not looking at me but clearly couldn't be talking to anyone else. I don't even know where that comes from, the initial on my ID badge, which I wear diligently, is a big bold 'D.' There must be another devilishly handsome, generously endowed man named Richard who resembles me wandering the office from time to time. It's really the only explanation.
   I am half-tempted to let this one go too. Not because I can't be bothered to correct her... well, not entirely for that reason... but because I want to explore why she calls me by someone else's name. She hasn't looked at me once when she's using the wrong name, so I suspect she doesn't really know my name, and is using the wrong one to prompt me to correct her. And if that's the case I absolutely cannot. It's the principle of the thing.
   I'm thinking of it as a science experiment. Sure... let's go with that.