Anyone born around the middle of the 20th century might remember the Four Tops' song "I Can't Help Myself." It topped the pop charts briefly in the summer of 1965.
If you are about the right age but drawing a blank on the song, let me give you a hint. The lyrical hook to "I Can't Help Myself" was the the sugary, four-word combo "sugar pie, honey bunch."
Now, almost five decades later, we are apparently entering a new golden era for honey-glazed terms of endearment. I know this because I'm a trained observer who eats a lot of Whopper burgers.
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Sometime around midpandemic, I noticed that female drive-thru cashiers began calling me things like "honey," "baby" and — my favorite — "love." Suddenly, the lady serving me a Big Mac combo sounded like we were married, or at least dating seriously: "Do you want to make that a large Dr Pepper, Pookie Bear?"
If this was just a one-off eccentricity, it wouldn't be worth mentioning. But I assure you this is a real trend. Everywhere I go, women behind counters are calling me sweetie, or honey, or baby. They all sound like Flo, the kiss-my-grits lady from Mel's Diner on the late '70s sitcom "Alice."
Here's a sample drive-thru conversation:
"What can I get for you, sweetie?"
"I'll have a No. 2 meal, no mayo, add cheese."
"Do you need ketchup, love?"
"No thanks."
"OK, darling, pull around to the first window."
I've been racking my brain trying to figure out why this happening, and if it's just female drive-thru workers or if it's also male workers talking to women customers. (I doubt it.)
I should be clear, this trend doesn't offend me; it just puzzles me.
Here are some of my theories about what I'll call the "Honey Pie Predicament."
— Maybe it's an old-man thing. Maybe I have passed through the portal from late middle age into "obviously elderly" and so women of a certain age have started treating me like a 15-year-old golden retriever in need of a pat on the head.
Maybe my new vibe is "harmless (bordering on pitiful) old man," and calling me "love" is like an act of compassion. (For some reason, I associate the term "love" with early 1970s crooner Tom Jones singing "Delilah" on a Las Vegas stage and throwing his sweat-drenched hanky to an orthodontist's wife in the front row.)
— Maybe it's a defense mechanism born of COVID. Maybe fast-food workers got so tired of insolent men that they started calling them "Honey Biscuit" and "Cutie Patootie" as a way of proactively disarming them. Maybe it's even part of their training.
Nah. I'm going to reject this as overthinking the situation.
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— Maybe we can blame it on the jobless rate. As workers have become harder to find, maybe new people — who have never been in public-facing jobs before — are finding their way to a fast-food drive-thru window near you.
As such, maybe they just reach for the nearest handle, as if they are greeting a second cousin whose name they can't quite remember.
This seems the most logical explanation to me, so I'm going to lock it in as my "final answer."
A smart person once told me, when searching for an answer think "horse" not "zebra." Meaning, the simplest answer is probably the correct one.
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Contact Mark Kennedy at mkennedy@timesfreepress.com or 423-757-6645.