NTKOG #208: The kind of bubbly, over-friendly chatterbox who peppers every banal sentence with enough “honey”s and “sweetie”s to give you diabetes.
I am: revolted by over-familiarity. Yeah, we may be fellow citizens of the universe, but don’t talk to me like you know me. Honey.
I am not: super comfortable being affectionate with my half-dozen cherished friends – let alone perfect strangers.
The Scene: Various retail outlets and eateries around the greater Boston area, where, for about a week, this stoic misanthrope giggled and simpered with perfect strangers like they were members of her dang wedding party.
Aside from the red passport tucked into my lockbox, I rarely remember that I’m very fully one-half British. Sure, I like blackcurrant juice and Enid Blyton novels (who doesn’t?) but I’ve always prided myself on my freewheeling, egalitarian American social graces. Except – EXCEPT – when perfect strangers have the audacity to refer to me by some pet name best left to boy-girl relationships.
Call me “muffin” in public. Go on, try it. I guarantee you I’ll draw myself up, Queen Mother style, and glare at you like you just sneezed in my open mouth.
And yet, for one week: “Don’t worry about it, honey,” I cooed to the bagel shop employee who told me they were out of light scallion cream cheese. Later, after the dour postman dropped off a heavy post at work (all bills, of course), I called gaily to his retreating form: “See you tomorrow, sweetie!”
Bank tellers, 7-eleven employees, panhandlers: the world was my 24-hour dessert buffet, and I was calling every damn item by name.
By the time the week was done, I heaved a cold sigh of relief and prepared to return to return to my usual Spartan style of address (nothing more intimate than “sir” or “madam” ‘til marriage, please).
Then, not two days later, Justice, Muscles and I grabbed a quick bite at a cute little Williamsburg restaurant. As I inelegantly demolished an order of pork ribs, a waitress passed by and discreetly floated a stack of napkins into my lap. I thanked her, then turned to find Justice gazing, aghast:
Justice: What did you just tell her?
TKOG: I just – I just said thank you. Didn’t I?
Justice: You said, “BLESS YOU, HONEY.”
Oh god. What have I become?
The Verdict: I guess this doesn’t make me as uncomfortable as I thought? I still think it sounds a little crass, and in theory prefer rigid boundaries with strangers, but, after the week, an observation: if you address people extra-sweetly with genuine good spirit, they notice it. They like it. They smile to acknowledge it. And I guess I must have internalized that lesson more thoroughly than I thought. With an extra bonus helping of talking like an old Southern lady thrown in.
{ 29 comments… read them below or add one }
It’s all in the delivery- sometimes I think it comes out a little condescendingly or that people take it that way. I know I do sometimes.
Dude, YES! I totally forgot this aspect of it, but that’s absolutely one of the reasons I started hating endearments in the first place! Nothing ratchets up my wrath level in an unpleasant encounter than when a snotty stranger tells me, “Listen, honey!” Aaaaahhh, when you use once-pleasant words as sarcasm bombs, you are eating my friggin’ soul!
This is one reason the American South makes me uncomfortable. I’m not your sweetie Ms. Grocery Store Cashier. I’m your customer and stop being all familiar. Also all the blessings and whatnot make this religious skeptic squirm. My southern friends try to tell me that it’s charming. But I don’t think it is.
why do people have to tell you to have a blessed day? What happened to having a good day?
And why do you have to say “blessed” differently if using it in that context? It’s “I am blessed,” but “Have a bless-uhd day!” Phonetically outrageous, is all I have to say.
So whatever your views on endearments, it savours just a tiny bit of class prejudice to say that a “Ms. Grocery Store Cashier” should “stop being all familiar”.
Good point. When I was writing this, I realized that I associated endearments primarily with hairdressers, and struggled with whether that was a perceived class distinction or a trait that might just be more common in the type of personality that’s drawn to the profession. I couldn’t come up with a good answer.
For what it’s worth, I dislike endearments from everybody — people behind cash registers, friends of friends, estranged great aunts — but 90% of the people I come in contact with, and am therefore annoyed or delighted by, tend to be employees in common or low-cost establishments. This is primarily because I don’t have much of a (or, actually, any) social life, and I don’t frequent high-end retailers ’cause I’m broke.
My whole life, I’ve never worked what you’d call a high-end or even really a while collar job. When I was in college, I worked in Hollywood Video; out of college, I was a tutor (aka lackey) and did admin work for an extremely small arts non-profit; now I’m a receptionist in an office owned by a public welfare non-profit. I certainly hope I don’t draw any sort of a line between me and “those people” because I am one of “those people”.
I definitely understand how what I wrote could project a hint of class distinction, but I sincerely hope that such a distinction doesn’t actively exist in my mind. All I can say is, I’m not perfect by a long shot, but when I feel myself start to have a prejudiced reaction against people based on socioeconomic status or any other factors, I try to make a conscious effort to firmly face and avert that prejudice. I’m doing the best I can, you know? I’m only human.
Oh, gosh, I wasn’t talking to you! I’m from the South myself, so I am used to and enjoy being called endearments as long as it’s not in a creepy way; but I am rather standoffish by nature and I think if I’d grown up in a different section of the country I’d be less okay with it. So yeah, that I definitely understand. I haven’t ever gotten the impression from any of your posts that you are in any way prejudiced against people based on socioeconomic status. I’m sorry that’s the impression you got!
I was responding – or I thought I was – I may have pressed “Reply” in the wrong spot – specifically to Nikki’s comment, because the phrases she used sounded awful to me, and I didn’t feel great about leaving them unresponded-to.
Actually, that’s no true for me. It doesn’t matter who they are. Shop clerks, lawyers, little old ladies, actors – I wouldn’t like it if the President called me “Alisa” or “sweetie” before we properly had an acquaintance!
My caveat: Alec Baldwin can call me sweetie. Hell, Alec Baldwin can call me anything he wants. (Might I suggest “Future Mrs. Baldwin”…?)
Over familiarity creeps me the hell out. In high school, I worked at a department store. My counter was kind of in a back corner, meaning that the manager had to constantly pop in to check on me and make sure I wasn’t being assaulted.
Because I am the kind of girl that people call “honey” and “sweetie” which quickly progresses to “Where’s your husband?” and “You’re too pretty to work here” and the occasional unwelcome hip touch.
You are on a slippery slope.
I didn’t realize how much other people disliked over-familiarity! I always thought I was the weird one! I hereby promise to: 1) reverse the trend forthwith; 2) definitely, definitely not touch anyone’s hips without their express permission. I’d never experienced accidentally-on-purpose hip touching ’til I started taking public transportation. It’s awful!
Wow, so much anger. I moved to the South years ago from New York, and it took me a while to realize that people were speaking warmly to me because…well, duh, because they were warm and friendly people who were ready to like me immediately. Before I proved anything to them. I found I was a lot happier myself when I dropped all my easily-offended crankiness.
Of course, this does NOT apply to jerks who use these endearments to place you in a one-down position.
Maybe it’s because I grew up in the south, but I usually find these endearments kind of sweet. Here in Barcelona, people seem to have a habit of calling everybody their age or younger “guapo(a)” (good-looking) in place of “sweetie” or “honey”. At first I thought everybody was hitting on me, but now I’m into it — I help an old lady at the grocery store and she says “thanks, pretty girl”; my cute co-worker says “hey gorgeous” every time he sees me; my roommate calls out “See ya later, beautiful” on her way out the door — I love it. The fact that it is applied indiscriminately regardless of looks, gender, or romantic interest does not diminish its appeal whatsoever.
Oh Kiss-Ducker, you are blind to your own famed charms. Everybody was hitting on you!
i’m southern, so this is something to which i am accustomed. but then again, one of the (in my mind) sweetest and most doting strangers i’ve ever run across in my life was the lady who fixed me hamburgers in a greasy-spoon diner in the bronx, in the shadow of old yankee stadium. “whatcha need, baby?”
this one is something that cuts both ways for me. i don’t mind a “sweetie” or a “honey” in passing, but it can DEFINITELY turn toward the creepy AND FAST. and NO. TOUCHING. that’s just icky.
You didn’t say Bless Your Heart, though! That’s the ultimate Southernism!!
I reserve “Bless Your/Her/His/Their Heart” for sh*t-talking purposes.
“Oh, Julie, did you really think you’d fit in those jeans? Bless Your Heart…”
“And then Steph actually believed him when he said the Valtrex was for his shingles. The sad part is that he’s the best man she’s had in ages, Bless Her Heart…”
Bitchy?
Yes.
They’ve always deserved it.
I regret nothing.
As a Texan, (we’re southerners who think we’re special) and I’m highly guilty of this. Mostly “honey,” “sweetie,” “sweetheart,” and “darlin’.” (No G. Because that would be weird.)
It’s never really occurred to me that people might not like it, I should probably pay more attention. I usually never use them unless it to someone younger or to someone apologizing for something.
As in, “Oh, sweetie, don’t do that!” to the child whose name I don’t know and who is sticking a pencil up his nose while his mother is on her damn cell phone; or “No, no, honey, it’s okay,” to the overworked waitress who just dumped coke on me and it’s not really okay but she looks like she’s about to cry and I feel bad.
Sound like legit reasons to me! For what it’s worth, I personally think it’s totally fine if the person saying it does it with warmth or if you can tell they’re just one of those genuinely effusive people. It mostly bugs me either when people say it in a condescending/sarcastic way or when it’s in that kind of 1940s gum-cracking secretary way. Like, “oh, I’m so overworked and important that you are like a child to me and now I’m going to treat you like one”. Plus, a Southern accent is a free pass to say all kinds of crazy things! (Love your definition of Texans, btdubs. Love it.)
It’s tough to grow up in a state that occasionally likes to remind the masses that we were once a country AND that we can break up into 5 separate states AT ANY MOMENT and not think of yourselves as special.
Plus our state shape looks fun and makes for marketable bags of pasta, cookie cutters and branding irons.
Not going to lie my speech is peppered with “sug” and “honey” even the occasional “kiddo” (that’s reserved for my cousin…8 years different is enough to be a “kiddo” right?) I always found that with the right delivery these terms can change a persons whole view of you and how they’re going to treat you. I worked at the world largest most well known theme park and if someone was from the south throwing a sugar in there made them feel more at home. And if its a group of old guys try calling them a collective “boys”! See old men swoon, and give you what you want most of the time!
Ooo, ooo! I do that too! Kids will always get a “Gentlemen!” usually followed by a “We do not [insert gross bodily function here] in public.”
But with much older men it’s a “Boooys….” usually said in the “You little scamps, you!” voice.
Works every time….
Love this post, because it speaks to one of my very favorite pet peeves. If someone calls me by a pet name, I’d better know them well, or I’m going to dislike them rather intensely! :) This goes for using my first name as well. I hate hate hate it when some clerk/bank teller/salesperson addresses me by my first name. I am “Miss LastName” to you, until we know each other at least a little better! I’ve actually refused to set foot into stores that are repeat offenders of this nature.
I got so used to this living in the south and in Texas (personally, I differentiate the two) I barely even notice it anymore. Properly delivered, they can make someone’s day.
What I did and do notice are the unsoliciated “blessings”. Even worse: The handful of times when, while working as a reporter, I was the victim of a prayer ambush. It goes like this: You’re doing a story on someone and then, at the very end, you’re all “Thanks, gotta go” and they’re like “Would you take a minute and pray with me?” One, it’s never a minute, more like three minutes of “will you please let go of my hand fercrissakes!!” And two, unfortunately, I’m out there representing my paper and it’s not like I can say no. People, keep your prayers to yourself. If I wanted to pray with you, I’d go to your church.
Take a minute to pray with you? WTF? I wanted to punch a guy when he was a foot from walking out the door, stops, turns around and says, “I’d be remiss if I didn’t show you pictures of my grandaughter.”
I’m not sure how I would react to somebody grabbing my hand and requesting that I pray with him.
Reminds me of the Cheech and Chong record, “Have you spoken to Jesus lately?”
“Yeah, Yeah, I just spoke to him this morning.”
I was at a Charlotte Knights game (minor league baseball) and no kidding, the girl selling foam fingers was also walking around with a pad of paper and a pencil and asking us ‘folks’ if we have anything we’d like to have her pray for. She was literally writing in her little notebook prayer requests. My husband and I are northern agnostics (aka Heathens to most southerners) and were pretty dumbfounded.
If she had actually asked us to pray with her, I probably would have gotten a little rude. Isn’t prayer supposed to be private if it’s not in church?
Sweetie, dear, you are a dual citizen of both the U.K. and U.S. so technically you are 100 % a citizen of each country.
My phone won’t let me reply properly, so it’ll have to go down here. Sorry!
Before I remembered that Kiss-Ducker is in Barcelona, I was going to tell you exactly what she did. “Guap@” really is used for everyone. At first I thought it was just creepy old men in the market saying it to young, pretty girls, but then I realised that the women say it, too–and just as enthusiastically to the middle-aged woman behind me as to the charming 20-something girl in front of me. As soon as I got past the idea that they were all creepy and hitting on me, I began to really like it, too!
Here in Italy, there are quite a bit of “Ciao, bella”s thrown around, but unlike in Spain, here it does seem to only be used by men towards pretty girls. Which is too bad, really. I mean, do women here start feeling old when they stop getting called bella all day long? (Is it the Italian equivalent of the “miss”/”ma’am” changeover?)
So like most people, I don’t mind a “honey” here and there (in the US), as long as it comes from warmth and not condescension.