"What a wonder life I've had! I only wish I'd realized it sooner." Colette

Nov 29, 2017

Don't Call Me a Guy!

Am I the only person who objects to being called this pronoun by youngsters 35 and under? At a Red Lobster luncheon recently with out-of-town friends I asked whether it bothered my companions (two women; one man) to be called “Guys” over and over by the waiter and their answers were all, “No.”

So I’m out of touch, but as a Noo Yawker I’ve been teased throughout my life if I slipped and said, “yous guys.”  During this morning’s news, encouraging people to donate to Coats for Kids, the broadcaster declared, badly,

“We need … your guy’s help.”

What's the difference?  Who did he mean? I don’t have any Guys in my house. If he’d said, “We need your help,” I’d head for Goodwill immediately, buy a kid’s jacket for a few bucks and donate it. (Still will…it's not their fault I’m petulant.)

I can’t watch one local broadcast because the Weather-person, who doesn’t look old enough to shave, says, “Guys” incessantly. What did they used to say?  “Back to you, Jack and Jill.” or just, "Back to you," which, FYI, is the same in plural form.

Why do I care?  Because I’ve waited my entire life to be called, “Ma’am,”  and I feel cheated. Ages since a Miss; never called a Ms. except in a doctor’s office; (we've) earned this respect simply by existing past 55.

Me being Amy, I’m preparing repartee's for various situations:

In a restaurant, to a Male waiter:

“Thanks, Gal.” (Lame.)  Or, “Thanks, Doll-face.” (Better.)  How about, “Thanks, Sweet-cheeks!” Yes!

In a restaurant, to a Female waiter:

“Thanks, Chap.” (Lame).  Or, “Thanks, Buddy.” (Better.)  How about, “Thanks, Sweet-cheeks!” Never.

And to any and all:

“Is that how you address your Grandmother and her friends?” I didn’t write Mother because observation of the culture indicates they’ve likely been disrespecting their own Mums for years in various fashions, but I don’t have to put up with their lack of training.

It is disrespectful to be so informal and simply assume it's OK with everyone just because everyone does it; but so is racing to a door and flipping it open only for yourself. And to our Millennial Hippie Feminists: how come yous voted for “Guys” and not “Gals” anyway? Boy, we really wasted our time in the '60's, didn't we, Sisters?

Here in Austin I’ve learned to request a caveat when a friend wants to go for coffee:

“Please let’s not go to one of your hairy-armpit places.”

Of course that’s sarcastic, but I thought I’d prepare you Fellas for the time when  female service workers (in summer attire) raise their arms and you enjoy their full bush. If you haven’t traveled overseas, you’re in for a real treat.

I thought there was some legal requirement to wear hairnets (and gloves?) while preparing and serving food but I was wrong.  So there’s no backlash if you find a hair in your soup, wherever the origin, ugh.

To digress momentarily, did you Ladies catch the Investigative Report on the shit, literally, which is passed along via MAKEUP SAMPLES?  All kinds of “e-coli-whatevers,” some originating in the intestines, were found in lipsticks, foundations, and eye-makeup testers shared by customers in prominent stores. One woman filed suit for contracting herpes. Matt Lauer held his hands over his ears during the report, but that’s how I feel after hearing the news of his broadcasting demise.

So anyway, Guys, Gals and Its: if you want my respect in addressing you as you desire, then please have the same consideration for me.  Call me, “Ma’am, Madam, or even, “Hey, Lady,” and I’ll respond much more pleasantly.

And by the way, Folks, you don’t address a stranger by their first name just because you’re holding their identification.

1 comment:

  1. I heartily agree, and so did Mom. I don't know how many times I have spoken to managers at restaurants and told them (now that I am of a 'certain age' and less reticent about offering my two cents) how I dislike being addressed as, "You guys." TGIFriday's would do it even when seating my 88-year-old mother!
    They of course listen, but it goes in one ear...


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