Coming October 2022: "The Last Folk Hero: The Life and Myth of Bo Jackson"

Honey, sugar, baby, sweetie …


So I’m sitting in Cosi, the spot where I often come to report and write (Sadly, today it’s the spot I’ve come to transcribe tapes. If you’re an aspiring book writer, and you’re under the impression that it’s all joy joy fun fun, well, it ain’t.)

Anyhow, there’s a manager here. His name is Rob. I might be off, but Rob seems to be a capable leader of the restaurant. It’s relatively neat, the service has improved, regulars come every day, etc. Best of all, he allows me to sit here for most of the day, purchasing little more than an iced coffee while abusing the bowl of free salty bread scraps. How can I complain?

And yet … it has been brought to my attention that big Rob calls many of the young women who work here Honey, Sugar,  Baby, Sweetie. Man, do I f%$#ing hate this. Hate it. So wrong. So, my question for y’all is whether I should:

A. Say something to the man.

B. Do nothing and mind my own business.

C. Write an anonymous letter.

Most of the women who work here are 17-, 18-, 19-, 20-years old, and they deserve more than some outdated schlub treating them with such disrespect.