Thursday, 2/8

Those are three words I hope never to hear again.

Based on what I wrote about my dad's birthday and how our family has a problem with the whole concept of “aging”, what happened to me on the way home from work last night should probably be no surprise. I left work, made sure the doors to the station were locked, pulled up my collar to keep the cold out, and started walking up the hill. It was nice, because I noticed that it wasn't pitch black when I leave work any more. There are still a few slivers of the setting sun left in the sky, which means that Spring is on the way soon. So walking up the hill I was feeling pretty good. By the time I was in front of Peter White Public Library I passed a couple of college-aged students, one of whom uttered those three words I hope never to hear again.

And just what were those words? “Good evening, sir”.

I was shocked when he said that. I literally stopped in my tracks for a second; my first impulse was to run back down the hill, grab him, and say something along the lines of “Dude, ‘Good evening’ is fine, but ‘Sir’? Are you out of your mind?” However, I didn’t want to spend the night in jail, so I just stood there for a second in a state of disbelief, and then made my way home, where my good mood was just a little less good.

Of course, there was no reason for it to sag like that other than me being me. The college kid didn’t mean any harm; in fact, his parents should be proud of the fact that he’s polite to people he’s never met. It’s just that, well, I’M NOT A SIR. A “sir” is someone important or someone distinguished. I’m neither. You say “sir” to someone who’s your elder.

And therein lies the problem.

I guess to a college student I could be considered a “sir”. I certainly don’t feel like one and I never believed I looked like one, but to that college student at that moment, I was “sir”. I certainly didn’t enjoy hearing it and I certainly don’t have to like it, but to that young man, that’s what I was. A “sir”. And I suppose it could have been worse. Instead of being a young man it could've been a young woman referring to me as “sir”. If my reaction to a guy calling me “sir” was this bad, just imagine what it would’ve been like if a young woman referred to me that way. I mean, instead of writing this, you’d probably wonder where I was the next few days, because I’d be hiding in my apartment, under as many covers as I could find, crying my eyes out.

Thankfully, though, that didn’t happen. Or at least it hasn’t happened yet. But the next time I disappear unexpectedly, you know where to look.

I think I’ll be okay. After all, the shock was in hearing those words for the first time. Sadly, I have the feeling that I will be hearing them again, if not tomorrow, then sometime in the future. Hopefully, I’ll handle it better than I did last night. After all, I ain’t getting any younger, and to more and more people, I’ll be someone who they would consider a “sir”.

(jim@wmqt.com), in need of some serious help