Having been confronted with a human that so obviously suffers from a defect in the memory storage, Jazz has no other chance but to react with a soft "Hello, Glitch. My name is Jazz."
Had Glitch been one of his kind, correcting the ailment would have been nothing but a short visit with a medic and maybe half an hour spent on tinkering with new installed hardware. But organics do not work like that. They are not as easy to repair as the common child of Cybertron.
Jazz feels a profund sadness when he realizes this fact.