Say My Name - Part 2

I'm getting old enough now that people generally call me 'sir' when they don't know what else to call me. Sometimes I'll get a 'buddy' or 'chief' or even 'dawg' now and then, but that's only in an informal setting, hoboes panhandling or what have you. In stores it's 'can I help you find something, sir?' or 'what can I get you, sir?' or 'yes, I'm certain you're too old to purchase a child's ticket, sir.'
   But recently I've noticed people calling my by my first name when I haven't given them permission to do so.
   Maybe it's just the old man in me rattling the bars of his cage again, but since when did it become acceptable for people to just assume they can address you informally, like a friend? I noticed it at the gym first, after I handed the guy my card he scanned it and said 'thanks, Don, have a good workout.' I know they mean it to be friendly and inviting, but I don't know this guy, and having him call me by my first name makes me wonder what else he's got on that hidden computer screen. Is he scanning my credit score? Does he have my home address? Does he know how I tipped the scales at my last weigh-in?
   Next it was the bank. They used to call me 'sir,' then it was 'Mr. Hartshorn,' and now it's 'Don.' I don't recall signing any approval for this, and I don't like it. I know the bank tellers can see all sorts of stuff about me and my accounts, so I'd prefer they kept it formal and went back to calling me 'sir.' When somebody calls me by my first name I always kind of expect that they're going to hit me up for money next.
   This has even happened to me at a restaurant, after I paid the tab. The waitress absconded with my card, ran it through the machine and then put it back on the table with a 'thanks, Don' as if she and I had been friends for years. It's just creepy and wrong, especially since I never took the time to remember her name even though she told it to me.
   At least at the grocery store they still call me 'Mr. Hartshorn.'
   So I'm putting everyone on notice, if you're not awarding me a million dollar jackpot, if I haven't given you permission beforehand, or if I'm not in front of you for medical advice or teeth cleaning, you don't get to call me anything but 'sir.' Well, maybe 'dawg' every once in a while. Makes me feel cool...

Uh-oh...

After a particularly surreal phone interview in which I was turned down because I made too little in my prior job - yup, you read that right, I didn't make enough to be considered for this new position - I had to take a few minutes to unwind. So I clicked through the broadcast channels and settled on 20.1, which in Pasadena is a Spanish-language channel. I don't really speak Spanish, just the curse words, but I was following the story, and after a few minutes it was all making sense to me. Then, in horror, I made a terrible, terrible, shocking revelation. With that one simple act, watching Spanish-language TV even though I don't speak Spanish, my life had completely changed.
   I had turned into my father.
   Once, years ago, I walked into the house to find him watching 'The Seven Samurai' on channel 41, Univision in San Antonio. The movie was spoken in Japanese, but subtitled in Spanish, and my father neither reads, writes, nor speaks either of those languages. When I called him on it he outlined the story for me and continued watching.
   And now the curse has fallen on the next generation. On me. I can see that I will eventually turn into my own grandfather, no use in fighting it, I'm gonna grab this bull by the horns and ride it to the bitter end. I'll need polyester jumpsuits in colors not found in nature, a fedora, black socks with worn dress shoes, and a great-big American land yacht of a car.
   I drive a Chevy Tahoe, so I already got the last one covered. Pray for me.