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You have been standing in line for what seems like hours, but it looks like you are getting close to the front. You wait in this line that now consists of five people, with yourself in the second spot. Looking around, you see a sign above the door the line is leading to, which reads "Simon's Simple Superlatives," and to it's left, a door with a sign reading "Paul's Personalised Pseudonyms." To the right is an unmarked door, with the window covered by a tarp. As you approach the booth at the end of the line, an acne covered teen is sitting inside.

 "Hello," he says in a bored voice. "Welcome to The Nucleus of Nomenclature. I suspect that you are here for a name change. Do you have your identification card?"

(This is a single character CYOA, that utilises the basic voting system, and dice on a tie  We start on your replies.)

(I believe you might be looking for an etymologist, not an entomologist?)

(@DaEpikDude Oops. I may have botched that one. And I can't edit as a NewTBGer. Oh well. I'll figure this out.)

Check my pockets (or inventory or whatever it is I have) for an identification card before replying, reading the name on the card and responding "Yes." if I do have it or simply replying "Was I supposed to bring one with me?" if I don't.

You pull out the Identification card from your shirt pocket and read the name Bidoof Wyrmwood, before hand it to the teen.

He looks at it.
Then he looks at you.
Then he squints at it.
Then he squints at you. He shrugs, takes the card and scans it, before handing it back. "I'm not sure why a member of the Wyrmwood Family would like to change their name, but honestly, I don't care. What would you like your new name to be?"

"Uh, Margaret." I reply.

(I'll let someone else supply a new last name.)

"Margaret Ljosson."

"Alright, Margaret Ljosson. Let me enter that into our system" He types on the computer for a few moments, and clicks with the mouse. The computer dings, and printer behind him starts, a choral "hallelujah" chant that can only be described as majestic, or irritating, plays. When the music reaches its climax, a card anticlimatically falls to the ground, and our friendly neighborhood attendant hands it to you. "Sorry about the music," he says sheepishly. "Ms. Simon insists upon it for every customer. That will be 12.3785 ounces of food, preferably in meats and cheeses. We're running low on those"

He hands you Margaret's Identification Card, and the Information Sheet which printed after it.

What do you do?

If I have 3/4 lbs of meat on me, I hand them over. If I don't, I do have the card, so nothing is really keeping me from booking it.