Cafeteria Ladies

I can count the number of people who are allowed to call me “babe” or “sweetie” on one hand.

- Betty (my mom) – she spent like 30 years teaching preschool and just has the disposition. And she’s my mom. Mom’s pretty much get a free pass.
- My boyfriend – limited to “baby,” and only allowed because it is only used in private moments and my actual name is still used in 99% of all conversation.
- Pat and/or John – pseudo-grandparents who have known me since I was born, and raised 5 kids of their own before me
- Jesus – this one should be obvious

There is a certain type of person who never uses first names. I haven’t figured out what the reasoning behind it is, but they are usually older, and have enough of a matronly air about them that most everybody just lets it pass and considers it endearing. The cafeteria ladies at work are like this, but they are extra intriguing because they aren’t old, not even a little. I’d be shocked if they were over 30. But no matter who walks through their checkout counter there is never a sir, ma’am, or miss uttered. The CEO of the company, a man worth like $80 billion, could walk through and they’d still call him hon.

Every time I go get something from downstairs, they remind me of the Dane Cook bit where he’s talking about the time he cut somebody in line and got into a verbal sparring match with a horrendous douchebag. It’s the man-fight progression of fake sarcastic jeering until the heavy name calling cuts in: hey Pal…. I don’t think so, Buddy…. Not on your life, Chief…. Bring it Gaylord! For lots of women, the Sweetie --> Babe --> Hon progression is the same. Each time one of these women calls me sweetie I want to punch something. I have no idea why, but it’s the same ire that was invoked in me whenever, during warm-up for soccer games in high school or college, whenever a teammate would say, “let’s go ladies!” I would cringe. Maybe I have a problem with people who use such familiar terms of endearment on perfect strangers because I feel so misunderstood most of the time. Maybe it bugs me because I know people who call everybody babe or hon and they are incredibly shallow, narcissistic, and fake in nearly every way imaginable. In any case, it remains hilarious to see a 50-something year old man be called sweetie by a 25-year-old cashier when purchasing his proudly-brewed Starbucks – the universe seems to have reversed.