13 October 2006

on men that call women "hon"

my pal anthony partakes in a neato weekly ritual called thursday thirteen. i've been thinking about joining in someday, but for now a friday frustration will have to suffice. oh, i know - most of my blog entries are about frustration, but... this is different. i swear. or maybe not. anyway.

there's a certain blog i frequent. without fail, in what i've surmised to be 99.89999% of the responses composed by the same man, he ends the first sentence with ", hon." everytime i see the Honner's avatar, i find every muscle in my body stiffening. i know what awaits. he's yet to fail me. i've tried to prepare myself, going in. i've tried to talk myself out of being frustrated. nothing is working. i suppose the best course of action would be to just not read Blogette's posts anymore, but i do enjoy her perspective, as it always gets me thinking.

i'm not certain of Honner's exact relationship with said Bloggette, but it looks like they're close and have been for some time. not in any laying down in the biblical sense sort of way, but super chummy. i imagine that it doesn't even bother her. as for me, you can take the girl out of the bar, but you can't take the bar out of the girl. i will be forever be tainted/scarred by the way many men spoke to me in my 10 years of managing/bartending at the same pub. ladies, if you've been in this line of work, you know exactly who i'm talking about. and this is why raising a toddler pales in comparison to what i've seen/heard.

but back to "hon." it ranks right up there with being patted on the head, or having someone order a drink while staring lavaciously at my breasts, or being told to "calm down" when stating (not screaming or freaking out, simply stating) an opinion, or being told when to smile. it isn't cute, nor is it particularly funny. it's, quite frankly, demeaning. i'm sure that no man that chooses this avenue of distraction ever "means it that way" (though there are many that do), it still makes my flesh crawl.

it ranks right up there with the 'gentleman' that got horribly angry after i cut him off and told him that i'd gladly give-him-water-or-coffee-and-call-him-a-cab because he could no longer stand at the bar without wobbling from side to side. as i reached for his keys, assuming that this grown man that had to be 40, in his armani suit ( i only know this because he told so after he'd planted himself next to the peanut box and ordered a shot of jaeger and a draw) would be gracious and thankful that i was looking out for his well-being and that of others sharing the road with him - well, instead, he growled. snatched up his keys. looked me dead in the eye and said, "don't you KNOW who i'am???!!!!!"
blank stare from me, frantically trying to remember his name.
"uh, john?"
"HON, I'M A STOCKBROKER!!!!! AND i want another shot of jaeger. NOW!"

ohhhhhhhhh, yes, the ever revered famous stockbroker, sitting at my bar, acting a fool.

"well, stockbroker, i'm sorry, but i'm not going to serve you another drink."
again, i offered water or coffee and a cab.
"yes. seriously."
i lost it. i couldn't help it. it should also be noted that it was my extra-loud-you-just-completely-caught-me-off guard-laugh. how did i go from "hon" to that in two seconds flat? who gets that angry over a shot of jaeger? there were 20 other bars within a mile of where i worked that would gladly have served him.

so, clearly having had quite enough of me, he headed towards the door. he opened it, got halfway through, turned around and did it again:
it was just too much. i was caught in a laughing fit.
i was thinking, take my job. please! then i won't have to play with the likes of you anymore! but what i managed to get out instead was, "ok, then. sure you don't want that cab?"
i thought i heard the waaaaaahmbulance coming.
i turned and walked the few feet to phone security. that guy had no business being on the road, and i was hoping that they might catch him and take him somewhere to sober up. as i was relaying my concerns to the operator, i see him pull up in the YARD through the plate glass window. he gets out, car running, props himself up on the roof of his bmw, and begins yelling something at me all the while shaking his fist wildly in the air. i'm sure it was "hon" - over and over and over.

another notable Honner? hmmm... ah! yes! that guy. he comes in, orders a drink. i give it to him, he pays. i bring back the change and say thanks. he says, "thanks, hon" while leaving a dime and two pennies on the bar. the night progresses. he asks me out/slides me his room key for the hotel he's staying at with his wedding ringed hand. i say, thanks, but no thanks."
guess what comes next? you got it.
what did he think i'd reply?
"oh, you know what? nevermind my initial no. i've just changed my mind. sure, i'll go out with you." sheesh.

any other Honners spring to mind? yup - the Honner that thinks it's cute when girls read. especially when they read political books. my shifts were always 9 hours long. i often would bring a book in with me, for the slow times in the winter when the bar would be a ghost town for several hours at a stretch.
"whatcha reading, hon?"
"you can call me kara."
"oh. you're one of them feminazis, aren't you? i shoulda known."


you could also exchange "hon" for "baby" if you like. whatever. same difference.

then again, i was the exception to the other girls i worked with who had no issues with juggling their boobs around or letting men rub on them for bigger tips - though i always made off with the loot just fine. so maybe it's just me.

ah, the good old days. hon.

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