Some people are weirded out by mere acquaintances using generic terms of endearment.

For example, back in 10th grade when I went through a “honey” and “darling” phase, my mom said it made me sound like some burnt-out 50s movie star. (Don’t know if that’s the truth, or she just was uncomfortable with the fact that it was a habit picked up from my girlfriend at the time.)

But when one of the managers calls me “honey” or the adorable bartender calls me “darling,” I love it. Not at all meant or taken in any uncomfortable way, nothing more than warmth. It just makes me feel like despite the exhausted hospitality skills and feet muscles, the perfectionist nerves and the tentatively balanced glasses of Palm’s, I’m in the right place. I’m wanted there.