I wish I could post the whole 16-page "essay" here but don't want to get Free Republic in trouble with the snobby, elite academic crowd hosting the content at the link given below.
If you are in the mood for some comic relief, you can view the essay in PDF form here.
At a Waffle House in Duluth, Georgia, I was addressed by my waitress as “baby doll” during my entire visit. I rather liked it, but it did occur to me that no other woman in my life had ever called me that!
The South has its own mannerisms and idioms.
Y’all, any carbonated drink, for example, is called Coke and Tea is iced and sweetened, unless otherwise requested.
“Honey” is better than ‘you snooty ferener from Yankee territory’.
He must be great fun at parties.
At my local 24 hour breakfast place, the waitresses call you “honey”, and I literally have given it a total of a half-second of thought in my entire time eating there. Waitresses calling you “honey” is simply part of the southern diner experience, same as grits and chicken fried steak.
When you go to Disneyworld and the giant Mickey Mouse mascot gives you a hug, he is not really that happy to see you. It’s the same thing.
To analyze it as the author does demonstrates a special level of cluelessness and oversensitivity. Of course, such politeness and familiarity also hearkens back to a more polite time in American history, and the academic left is hell-bent on destroying every last vestige of that.
Probably a beta-male.
As a native Mobilian, I feel sorry for this guy. The subject is insane.
He imagines himself as some sort of well-traveled, modern day Herodotus. The waitresses may refer to him as “honey”, but the truckers in Waffle House likely want to kick his ass.
How traumatic this must have been. I hope they didn’t put grits on his plate.
I go to the waffle house for two things: low prices and to hear the waitress standing 4 feet from the cook yell the order at him.
If you don’t understand waffle house, get on down the interstate.
I’ll be as politically correct as I can here. Anyone who objects to being called hon by a waitress is a RETARD or a stinking liberal looking for something to be offended by. But I repeat myself. Anyway, if you’re a liberal stay the hell out of Arizona. We don’t want you or your asinine imbecilic politics here
He seems to have been offended that a mere peon would dare address him with a term of endearment rather than the more formal “Sir” befitting his elevated station in life. Unbunch your panties, you pompous ass, and chill.
Must’ve been code...
All that thinking for two over easy, hash browns, grits and a gravy biscuit. What must his world be like?
I don’t live in the south
east... Or south central or Texas... But I do feel mildly annoyed at being called “honey” by a waitress where I live. Makes me feel like I’m at a truck stop, for some reason. But, it is certainly not worth reacting to or being rude about; certainly no offense is intended or taken.
Ping.
I have not encountered men saying such things. It would be considered inappropriate--although maybe if speaking to a child.
Actually, it's very nice and very endearing.
When my wife and I drove from California to the east coast, I stopped at a 7/11 in Oklahoma. The people were so friendly--it was like entering a wonderful world in which everyone was welcoming.
And this spirit is not superficial. I took a U-haul trailer into North Carolina and didn't know where to drop it off. I stopped in a small convenience store to ask directions. The woman behind the counter didn't know either, but she made 8 or 10 telephone calls in my behalf until she found out where to direct me.
she is doing it because she hopes to get a better tip.
I had to laugh at this Jerk, even the Chinese waitress at the local Hong Kong Buffet calls me ‘Honey’ when she wants to know if I would like a refill on my ‘Sweet Tea’.
The young hipster waitress at Dos Toros calls me “sweetheart.” This doesn’t bother me because I am, in fact, a sweetheart.
Well Brett, as a Vermont Yankee I don't understand it any better than you, but I'll try to explain it as best I can. The waitress was a Southerner, and Southerners tend to be more friendly than is common in California and Pennsylvania. She doesn't really think you're a honey, in fact she's probably laughing at you behind her hand, because you're a dumbass.
Thats all.
The essay repeatedly uses the word "power" in the context of who is trying to see with whom to establish relationship, over whom to exert power over and over whom to ultimately establish control through use of "rhetorical" linguistics. He uses vocabulary only a "Professor of Communication", as he so deftly informs us, would understand. Mr. Lunceford repeatedly cites sources of whom we have never heard who are apparently experts on the nuances of communication. It becomes obvious that those of us from the South have severe deficiencies in this arena and are unable to recognize proper relationship boundaries, especially when entering a restaurant.
Apparently being mistakenly called "honey" by a waitress who did not recognize the man's true character nor realize he certainly isn't anyone's honey was just too much for Brett. He does acknowledge that his elementary teacher wife uses the term "honey" when address her precious 2nd-grade charges who live in the South, but only since she has moved to the South. The move, in large part, might be an attempt to get away from the heartless, criminal, robotic emotion types from Pennsylvania and the West Coast. He does correctly cite Mark Bazer who says that the use of "honey" by waitresses to to make the customer feel at home. So again, the assertion must be made that Lunceford has been mistakenly called "honey" by waitresses because they don't realize that they don't want to make him feel at home, but rather actually desire that he return home.
Brett also dutifully quote Robert Sutton and Anat Rafaeli as stating that waitress (and presumably chauvinist male waiters) are seeking to earn tips with friendliness, something he apparently doesn't possess nor care much about learning. Now, if only waiters and waitresses (who would not be able to even read his verbose critique of them) at the low-end restaurants patronized by perfesser Lunceford who with his school teacher wife, who have the means to eat at finer establishments with staff appropriately educated on how to communicate with those who have a completely distorted view of their communicative abilities, knew to ask, "Are you Brett Lunceford?", they would NOT call him honey and the problem would be solved.
All of this brings to mind the Dunning-Kruger effect. It basically describes someone as believing they have skills and abilities and that everyone around them is incompetent or of lesser skill and can not even be taught any differently. Lunceford, perhaps you might try to learn to be nice to the people waiting on you and don't worry what terms they use to address you unless use a pejorative term. And, what do we from the South know? We can barely talk and certainly can't write anything of substance.
What’s he even doing at Waffle House then?
“Get a rope.”
Well isn’t he just the sweetest little ole thing? Bless his heart.
Once during a work place conference call I addressed the person I was speaking to as “hon” and “dear” several times. My boss who hailed from NY was somewhat aghast. I made a quick apology to the person I was speaking to along the lines of not meaning to offend. His reply was that he did not mind at all as it reminded him of home and he really missed hearing such in everyday conversations. He knew perfectly well it was just a natural way some of us speak in the South and didn’t mean I was fixing to pick out china patterns and cozy up to his mama.
At the completion of a meal, when the waitress asks, how you found the steak? It was right there under the parsley.