Dear young baristas: I am a full-ass grown woman, but you KEEP calling me "sweetie" or "honey" at least once a week. Why?
I am not sweet. If I were a dessert, I'd be bitter chocolate with a sprinkling of salt. I've lived in Seattle long enough to know that most Seattleites are like this.Â
A barista once called me “love” and, heck, that was great. At least "love" communicates respect at an equal level... But "sweetie"?! What am I, a tiny schoolgirl in a gingham dress with a lollipop?! Cut the insecure power moves, and stop likening grown-ass women to your co-workers' newborn baby.Â
Oh, and if you're trying to live out your dream of being an elderly Southern woman giving strangers endearing pet names, then I'm here to pop your bubble. We're in crusty-ass Seattle. The Northwest. It doesn't translate with your new tattoo on your arm and your mainstream fashion choices.Â
Do you need to get something off your chest? Submit an I, Anonymous and we'll illustrate it! Send your unsigned rant, love letter, confession, or accusation to ianonymous@thestranger.com. Please remember to change the names of the innocent and the guilty.
