I’m not sure if it’s because I’m uncomfortable with aging or just not a morning person, but the security guard in our building has been getting under my skin lately. The culprit? One little word: “Sir.”
And let me tell you, it’s not sitting well with me.
“Sir” has always struck me as a title for someone with a lifetime of wisdom or a man of great authority - think police officers, doctors, or Sean Connery. It’s definitely not what I expect to hear as I stumble into the radio studio, still half-asleep with yesterday’s coffee stains on my shirt.
I understand that “sir” is meant to be polite - a little social lubricant to grease the wheels of daily interactions. But seriously, it makes me feel ancient and, frankly, a bit out of place. Have I really hit the point in life where “sir” is the default address?
So, here’s my dilemma: Do I politely ask Paul Blart to dial it back on the “sir” or just grin and bear it as I shuffle past his desk each morning?
In the end, I suppose I’ll just nod awkwardly and try to accept that, like it or not, I’ve officially entered “sir” territory. But if I ever get promoted to "Your Excellency," at least I’ll know I’ve earned it. Until then, "sir" still feels like a reminder that time isn’t on my side.
Photography credit: Jeremy Padgett