Don't Call Me "Hon"

The old saying is, “Familiarity breeds contempt.”  Lately I’m beginning to think the reverse is the real truth: contempt breeds familiarity.  Several female sales clerks who have decided to address me as “Hon” lately have led me to this conclusion.  Either these clerks harbor an deep affection for all other female members of the human race, or they are getting their jollies annoying them.

You don’t have to be a genius to realize all this familiarity is not affectionate.  Not long a ago, a clerk at the gas station in Dubois, Idaho called me “Hon.” Then noticing my annoyed expression, she escalated to “Sweetheart.”  Clearly, this form of address is hostile.

This irritating famliarity almost never happens at the higher quality stores like the Parrot, Base Camp, or Pan Handler.  But pay for gas at the chain gas station or check out at the local big-box store and all too often a female clerk “Hons" you. Yuck.  These clerks do a great job of living up to the movie stereo-type of a low class, gum chewing kind of babe with a nasal voice and a nail file. 

The best offense is a good defense, according to my football loving husband.  So I am considering what kind of defense to use when I am inappropriately addressed. Would a direct approach be best?  I am considering asking, “What have I done to deserve such disrespect from you?”  Or perhaps, “Since I don’t know your last name, I can safely say our relationship is not that chummy.”  Maybe a reply in kind would get the point across.  Next time I hear, “Here you go, Hon,” I am considering the following responses:

“Thanks a bunch, Snookums.”

“Toodle-oo, Poopsie.”  Or possibly,
"See you later, Lambie Pie."

After all, why should low class clerks have all the fun of irritating people?