Look, I’m turning 40 soon. I’m not quite old yet, but I sure as hell am not a whipper snapping spring chicken, either. The point is, I’m a grown-ass man.
Do not call me, “Bud.”
This goes for all people, but is particularly true if you are a salesman.
I have this theory that if I walk into a place, as the grown-ass man that I am, and the salesperson calls me “Bud,” well… That dude can’t be trusted.
“Hey Bud, let me show you these cars that we have parked over here.”
Ummmmm… “Thanks, but… Goodbye.”
You might as well say, “hey, Slick! What brings you in today?” or “C’mon Sport, I’ve got something you’ll be interested in!” or “what are you thinking there, Champ?”
I went car shopping not too long ago, and my 23-year-old salesperson had the balls to call me “Bud” within seconds of meeting. Within ten minutes of meeting he had called me “Bud” six different times. I asked for a different salesperson.
“Bud” is what I call my child, and even he’s getting a bit old for it. “Bud is actually a great and endearing term for your little buddy, and I am a big fan of dads everywhere calling their kids (of either gender) “Bud.”
But… If you also happen to be a grown-ass man and we find ourselves face to face in any (and I mean any) capacity, please do me a favor and remember that I am not your child. I am not your little buddy. I also am a grown-ass man. If you want me to trust you at all, speak to me like a grown-ass man.
Can you do that for me, Bud? Thanks, Sport. I appreciate it.
Dan Pearce | The Single Dad Laughing Blog