Sugarbutt

There was a day when women in the workplace expected to be called ‘Sugar’ or ‘Hon’ or ‘Sweetie’ by their male coworkers. Maybe it was a sexually demeaning game. Maybe it was a colloquialism. Either way, it was the norm.

Nowadays, not so much.

Not that I long to return to the ‘Good Old Boys’ way of doing business… I don’t …. But it has gotten to the point where the threat of sexual harassment in the workplace has grown horns and a tail and hovers menacingly over the desk of every woman. I have watched men nearly kill themselves trying to recover from an innocent slip of the tongue.    

Men from the south seem to be particularly vulnerable. And you know what? I’m just going to say it. I don’t care. I don’t care if they call me Sweetie. I don’t care if they call me Sugar. I don’t mind if they open the door for me when my hands are full, or step aside to allow me to enter the room first. That’s not sexual harassment. That’s POLITE.

Sexual harassment is when a male superior calls you into his office and shuts the door behind him and gropes your body while you try to get a desk between the two of you.

Still… there’s a fine line to be drawn.

 I work with an older gentleman from Texas who is prone to verbal gaffes when it comes to me. He’s called me everything you can imagine and apologized more times than I can count. Yesterday, we were alone in the office. I was filing and had my backside to him when suddenly I heard, “Hey, Sugarbutt, what’re you doin?”

I slammed the filing drawer closed and whirled to face him. “WHAT did you just call me?”

He looked up, face frozen in fear. It was then that I noticed the cell phone dangling from his ear. “I’m, I’m talkin to my girl,” he stammered.

I laughed so hard I cried. I laughed so hard Safety came to see what was the matter. And when he tried to explain, I laughed even harder.

In fact, I’m pretty sure when I see him this morning, I’ll laugh again.

So… here’s Sugarbutt, giggling her way into a new day.