Honey

By Rebecca the Bookseller, who loves go to the local joints

‘Round these parts, everybody’s somebody’s honey.  All you have to do is go into a restaurant or bar or store that’s been around for more than 20 years, and you can be somebody’s honey too.

The local Wait Staff (or servers, or whatever you want to call the people who bring you food and drink) is particulary fond of the "Yeah, I know your face and you leave a good tip but let’s not kid ourselves that I really know everyone’s name I’ve been doing this longer than you’ve been alive" Honey.  So we call everyone honey back.  The other night, there was a new Waiter at a local Italian place, and we started with the Honeys right from the jump.  "Oh boy"  he grinned, "here we go with the Honey."  Being the PC-saturated generation that we are, we asked whether it bothered him.  Of course not, he assured us.  But really, what was he going to say?

The veterans on both sides of the ordering process don’t even think twice.  In fact, if you go into certain stores and do not get a: "What’ll it be, hon’?"  you’d wonder if you’d offended someone.  One woman who has been behind the cheese counter at an Italian Deli in our Wholesale district calls everybody Doll.  If you’re having a bad day, she bumps it up to Doll Face and gives you some smoked Mozz to make you feel better.  "What can I getcha, Doll?" booms across the store all day long, delivered in that rough voice that’s a dead giveaway of a long-term smoker.  Plus, you know they’ve got the homemade wine under that counter, because when they get it out on Christmas Eve or Football Game Days, it’s never a new bottle.

One more reason I love this town.

Now, you have a good one, hun!