Does anyone else find it mildly disturbing to be addressed as “dear”, “hon,” or “darling” by someone who is at least 10 years younger than you?
I have noticed over the past year or so that Tim Horton’s has been hiring more young servers, and they have strangely taken on some of the matronly language of the more traditional Tim Horton’s Lady. (For those of you wondering if this has something to do with Dr. Seuss, miscommunication and my penchant for bad chemicals, Timmy’s is Canadian institution and chain of coffee shops.)
This morning was particularly uncomfortable, as the young lady serving your peripatetic doctor of peyote, was also a hottie. Granted, Timmy’s tries to disguise any attractiveness their staff may have with the brown, shapeless polyester atrocities they make them wear, but there was no pretending.
“Can I get you anything else, dear?” she asked me.
Thousands of inappropriate responses flashed in my mind, somewhat dulled as it was by the morning’s peyote milkshake. (Hence the need for the high-octane caffeine that is the only redeeming quality of Tim Horton’s coffee.)
“How about a beaver tail?” I said in a strangulated voice.
“We don’t serve that, sir.”
Phew, now “sir” was more comfortable territory.
Timmy’s Christmas cup by jumphawk
