Love They Neighbor What...?

It all began when we ordered something online.

Then about Tuesday we wondered where it was. I checked the tracking and it was allegedly delivered on Friday. So I called FEDEX and gave them the WHAT FOR and the WTF. They opened an investigation and promised to get back with me. They still haven't.

Meanwhile, in our neighborhood, unbeknownst to me, the package with the thing we'd ordered had been sitting on a neighbor's stoop since last Friday. And it's a big box. If dropped on someone's head it might kill them. If slung in the chest of a neighbor, it would surely knock them down. Finally yesterday, I spied this box, about five houses down, on the same side of the street, a home with similar numbers.

So I went up to the door, which was partially blocked by the box, stepped around it, and knocked on the door. I peeked through the window and saw toys strewn from one side of the house to the other. The television was on a Maury Povich-like talk show. A child with wild hair, food on her face, and a look like Jack Nicholson gave after he stuck his head through the hotel room door plastered her face to the window. A man holding a baby opened the door. He looked all the world like a meth-addicted Tom Green (even though Tom Green often looks meth addicted).

The conversation went something like this:

ME: Hi. I think FEDEX mis-delivered my package.

NEIGHBOR: Okay.

ME: I live just down the street.

NEIGHBOR: Okay.

ME: I saw this on your porch and thought I'd stop by.

NEIGHBOR: Okay.

ME: It was delivered last Friday.

NEIGHBOR: Okay.

ME: I've been looking for it.

NEIGHBOR: Okay.

I tried once more to get single word man to explain WTF he kept my box on his front porch for a week rather than bringing it down.

ME: Just five houses down (as I point towards my house).

His vapid expression changes.

NEIGHBOR: I didn't see it.

Really? For a week? You didn't see it? You had no idea? Seriously? For a whole week?

But trying to be a good effing not the sort to shoot someone kind of neighbor I smile weakly.

He closed the door. Through the door I hear:

NEIGHBOR'S DEMENTED OFFSPRING: Who was that, Daddy?

EFFING VAPID POS NEIGHBOR: Just a wierdo, honey.

Really?

Seriously?

I'm the wierdo?

Sigh.

Love thy neighbor what?

Don't Call Me Hon...

unless you're my wife or my mother.

Do you really think I'll give you a larger tip if you call me hon?

If I buy something and you take my money, I am not your hon. I am a customer. Sir would be nice, especially if I just dropped a Benjamin.

Random picture: Me and Mike Casto

Is it a coping mechanism? Is this how you enable yourself to interact with the universe? Instead of treating a customer as a sir or a man you relegate them to a more informal status. But we just met? Maybe I don't want to be informal with you. Maybe I want to keep our relationship formal. Maybe I want to be the customer and you can pretend to be the employee. Maybe I want to be shown a little respect for dropping money at your place of work. Maybe I don't want someone to think you're my Amazonian love slave I've been keeping on the side.

Do you realize that you've lessened the value of the word Hon - Honey?

Do you have son? Daughter? Husband? Do you call them hon, too? After calling dozens, maybe hundreds of strangers hon throughout the day, do you think the value of hon might be lessened? After all, if you're going to call a stranger hon, then how much love and endearment can it really be worth? You might as well call your kid door or cake or shrub for all the value you've imbued in it.

In the past week I've been called hon a dozen times. Once at a high-end men's clothier, after spending 100+ dollars the cashier called me hon. I called her on it. She laughed self-consciously and said that the management said she shouldn't say it either, but that she'd been a waitress for so many years, she couldn't help it. I told her this is not a Waffle House and when I spend this much  money on something I want to be called sir.

Don't call me hon...

unless you are pouring my coffee, you're wearing and apron, and you know the difference between over easy and sunny-side up.

Don't call me hon unless you are serving me breakfast.

Or of you're my wife.

Or my mother.

Why not just call me sir and be done with it?