Rant Increase

In a few weeks, my sister Jennifer is having shoulder reconstruction surgery. You might recall that this past January, she had a knee replaced. Pretty soon she will have so much metal inside her that she will even stick to refrigerator magnets.

The reason she’s having the surgery this fall is that she met her insurance deductible with her knee replacement surgery, so since shoulder surgery was inevitable, she chose to do it in 2020. Why not? After all, it’s 2020. She probably could fit in a hip and her other knee if she put her mind to it.

She chose to have the surgery again in AZ at the orthopedic surgery practice where she had her knee surgery. Though it’s the same practice, it’s a different surgeon. She had to work with a member of their staff to get the information. Not surprisingly in this day and age, it took some time and angst to get it all settled.

Not the least of her frustrationwas the fact that the man with whom she worked talked to her like she was 10 years old. Well Sweetie, I’ll see if I can get the doctor to help me set a date for you. Would that work? Or, Now don’t you worry Honey. We’ll get everything to work out.

“Why does he think he can call me Sweetie or Honey?” Jen would say to me day after day when the man wouldn’t respond to her pleas to get a date set so that she could make her arrangements. “He doesn’t know me,” she went on. “He doesn’t know how old I am, and he certainly wouldn’t be calling me Honey if he saw me grinding me teeth in frustration.”

It’s a good question. Why is it that young cashiers or food servers or receptionists in doctors’ offices think it’s okay to call a Baby Boomer something like Sweetie, or Honey, or Dear? It is annoying as hell! I have been a cashier and a receptionist and a food server, and I promise I would NEVER have called an older person by such a name. It’s demeaning.

Do you hear that, Young People. IT’S DEMEANING. Stop. Just stop.

This is my second rant this week, and for that, I apologize. But the grocery store cashier yesterday said to me, “Goodbye, Dear. Have a great day.”

I’m not your “dear” and don’t tell me what kind of day I should have. To tell you the truth, it was going quite well until you called me Dear.

While much of my readership is on the receiving end of the Honeyisms, I will nevertheless make this plea to those who have yet to reach the Golden Years. Don’t call us Sweetie. Let’s go back to the good old days and just call me Ma’am or Sir.

Rant complete. And get off my lawn.

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