Call Me Mister

I was ordering takeaway food on the telephone and I ended the call by saying my name was Mr (Actual Surname). Miss Pink chortled at me. I hung up the phone and asked her what was so amusing. “Why didn’t you just give your first name?” she asked. I replied that I always leave my surname and that I expected to be addressed as Mister. And then it was on, baby.

Miss Pink pointed out that I have a history of class dissent. Specifically bitching about the treatment of workers by employers and here I was treating the restaurant-wallahs in a high-handed fashion by expecting to be addressed as though I were their superior.

To background this discussion a little further, her family is dyed-in-the-wool Liberal and mine is irrevocably Labor. Although she has been known to swing her vote occasionally and I have sometimes not voted for the benighted Australian Labor Party, I have never voted for the Libs. I could, I guess, around about the time they install a Fujitsu in Hell.

Further, this discussion took place in the car and through several of Perth’s western suburbs as we drove towards the Thai restaurant that we were getting the takeaway from, that Miss Pink particularly likes.

We stopped at the restaurant. She went to the ATM. I went upstairs, purchased the meal, oppressed the workers for a bit by referring to them as ‘you there’ and I met Miss Pink back at the car. As we drove home, I said that when I used to work behind the counter in restaurants, I always referred to the customer as sir or madam until instructed otherwise. I never had a problem with it.

She remained unpersuaded. I can see this particular topic will be worked through the laboratory of friends and family over the coming weeks. Bring it on, I say.

Mr “Mister” Trivia

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