More wars than you can count, the U.S. Department of Torture soon to be a cabinet-level position, a bazillion bucks in debt, an economy that is the envy of any Third World republic, smiling con men running the government, crime right outside our bolted doors—all that is apparently small tacos compared to guys and gals calling gals “guys.”
Below is a “letter-to-the-editor” in yesterday’s daily fish wrap:
How About Some Respect For Women?
Guys, guys, guys! It appears that whatever restaurant one goes to, even the plush restaurants, that when the server comes to greet newcomers it’s always, “Hi guys! How are you guys today?”
Well, I am not a guy and I am sure that many of the customers are not guys either. This irks me to no end. Can the server see that I am not a guy? Can’t a server be a little polite and say, “hi folks,” instead? Why do the managers of the restaurants allow this? I have gotten to the point that I say to the server, “Are you talking only to my husband, as I am not a guy?”
The management of any restaurant should make their servers aware that “guys” should not be used to address mixed-sex couples. Just plain “folks” will do. This use is demeaning to females. We had the woman’s suffrage, and back in 1920 the right for women to vote was enacted. Well, I think now it is time for we women to get together once again and stop this “guys” bit and demand some respect from our servers in restaurants.
Adeline M. Radford
Now, I am no spring chicken but if my memory serves me, we--men, women, boys, girls, butchers, bakers, candle-stick makers, AND “servers”--have been calling each other “guys” since at least the early 1960’s. Why? Well, probably for no better reason than because it’s quick and friendly. “Hi, men and women,” sounds retarded. “Hello, ladies and gentlemen,” sounds stilted and 50% of the time those being seated are neither “ladies” or “gentlemen.” “Yo, you low-life POS scum-suckers” might be more accurate but it takes too long to spit out and such a greeting could get yourself killed. “Hi folks” is nice and homey, I suppose, but if the diners are teens, drug addicts, a group of young girl Goths in purple hair and black lip stick, or a bunch of homos just stopping in for crepes and daiquiris after the gay pride parade, calling them “folks” seems pretty weird.
“Hi guys!” is two syllables, is friendly, is informal, and it just rolls off the tongue. Not once have I ever heard any person under the age of one hundred complain about “womanly respect” when they were greeted thusly by a “server” or anyone else.
Since calling guys and gals, or just a bunch of gals, for that matter,“guys” is generally accepted by perhaps 99.9% of all Americans, I suggest that Adeline, Theodora, Clara, Hortense, and the other one tenth of one percent from the dinosaur age move along to some more pressing issue, such as reviving the Whig Party or abolishing these noisy horseless carriages or working to insure that Calvin Coolidge gets reelected. Certainly, if Adeline gets “irked” and bent out of shape at something so blithe as the above, what must she think of internet pornography, a Chris Rock performance or Bill Clinton and his cigar tricks? Wonder if she can find some “respect for women” in those places.
Overrun--In the past five days I have removed from this house not one, not two, not three, but four geckos. Michelle has no problem sharing her space with the beasts and argues that these jelly-like little creatures keep the insects down. My counter argument: I much prefer a few insects to a herd of geckos running across my head when I am trying to sleep at night. Unlike the leaping lizards outside which are longer and slimmer and dash like darts, these geckos are shortish, plumpish, not nearly so fast, and cuter, by far. And they are white like cold cream. I deduce that they have turned thus to blend with our walls. Anyway, although I do not want them in the house, I can honestly say that I am not troubled by them too much. They are just too slow, cute and harmless for that. And how they get in is still a mystery.
Mein Gott! Whether coming or going, it pays to be on your toes when Florida oldsters get behind the wheels. This past weekend, some fossilized feller older than dirt was at a Punta Gorda strip mall doing something (though I doubt if he even knew what it was). Anyway, for some reason old Ebenezer was backing his car up and as sure as shootin’, he confused the gas pedal for the brake and sent his vehicle plowing ass-backwards into a local restaurant/gift shop. The good news: The place had already closed for the day and no one was injured. The bad news: The cute little cafe/shop was utterly demolished.
Unfortunately for all of us here in South Florida, the addled old coot was not killed in the mishap and no doubt he is right back out there today, backing into buildings, cars, cyclists, pedestrians, drug addicts, prostitutes, and anyone else haunting the strip mall. Pretty frightening when I consider that I actually share the road, not with just a few, but with thousands of such drivers. I think it only a matter of time before I encounter some old person’s gas pedal with my name on it.
Coming Soon--Michelle’s Secret Sex Life