I asked for a coffee, not a therapy session
It's our wedding anniversary this weekend (the 26th since you asked) and we went for a meal. Nice place, Davy's in Greenwich if you want to know. Nice food, nice atmosphere, nice young waiter. Everything was going really well.
And then he called us "You guys".
I'm not a guy. A guy is someone who wears a baseball cap and a heavy metal band T shirt, or maybe cargo pants with no socks. I'm neither.
My wife isn't a guy either.
I never try to give out bad vibes but maybe the way I involuntarily extinquished the candle with my spat-out Manzanilla told the waiter something and he started calling me "Sir". I don't like "Sir" either, but at least it doesn't make me feel I have to clap him on the back and offer to buy him a beer.
After that we had a lovely meal.
Everywhere you go these days people who are not your mates talk to you as if you were bosom buddies. Last month I had a meal with Bob, one of my oldest friends. We've known each other since 1966. I think he's earned the title of "Mate." The waitress, who'd clearly entered the Bubbliest Babe on Bankside competition, called us "guys". I let it pass. Emboldened, she brought in the mains with a whooping "Here you are, boys!".
"She's beginning to piss me off" I told Bob. "Hey, Tony - chill!" he replied. So now it's not only the people who bring you food, drink, postage stamps and coffee who talk to you like a teenager, it's your best friend.
Everywhere you go, it's "How you doing?" from the boy who plonks a muffin on a cardboard plate for you, or "What are your plans for the day?" from the girl who plops your toothpaste in a bag. Look, you people, I know you're only following corporate instructions, and I agree you're underpaid, overworked, and trampled on, but this is a business transaction, not a speed-dating session. A smile and a nod will do the trick.
Actually now you ask, my haemorrhoids are playing up, I've had terrible wind all day, I've been fired, I'm getting divorced and I'm about to take my revenge on humanity by spraying this whole shop with dum-dum bullets. Do you still want to know how I'm doing?