“Double-Talk” Should Be Divided

Summary

Peter, a friendly volunteer at a take-out meal service, addresses a regular named Ray with a double-nickname and excessive politeness, revealing a dynamic of condescension that goes unchallenged until the author decides to change their own behavior towards Ray.

Abstract

Peter, the individual responsible for organizing the distribution of meals to those in need, consistently displays a warm demeanor, particularly with a regular patron named Ray. He affectionately refers to Ray as "Ray-Ray," using the moniker repeatedly during their interactions. Despite the seemingly friendly gesture, this practice, coupled with instructions regarding his mask, comes across as patronizing. Ray, who is typically silent and was once mistakenly thought to be impaired, surprises everyone by speaking one evening, only to retreat back into silence. The author, initially attempting to mirror Ray's non-verbal behavior, realizes the importance of acknowledging Ray with respect and plans to greet him with a smile and a single, dignified use of his name.

Opinions

The author implies that Peter's use of "Ray-Ray" and the repetition of Ray's name is excessive and potentially demeaning.
There is an underlying tone of condescension in Peter's interactions with Ray, as highlighted by the author's observation of the situation.
The author initially mirrors Ray's non-verbal behavior, suggesting a sense of discomfort or uncertainty about how to interact with him.
The author experiences a moment of self-reproach for not maintaining a friendly demeanor towards Ray, indicating a personal shift in perception regarding respectful interaction.
The author's decision to smile and address Ray by name once is a conscious effort to treat Ray with the dignity he deserves, contrasting with Peter's approach.

Ray times two = condescension

Peter, the fellow in charge of the line-up for take-out meals served to the needy, is unfailingly friendly to all. He greets the regulars by name — twice for Ray.

Welcome, Ray-Ray.

Then:

Your mask is slipping, Ray-Ray. Step on up, Ray-Ray. Up with the mask, Ray-Ray. Enjoy the meal, Ray-Ray. Again with the mask, Ray-Ray.

All told, a twelve-pack of Rays.

Ray accepts his eponymous egg carton without comment. Ray rarely speaks. For months, I’d assumed he was somehow impaired.

Until one day last summer, upon his approaching the food table, he startled us servers with a smile and “Good evening, ladies.”

It was we who were nonplussed. By the time we’d recovered our voices, Ray had headed off with his meal.

Ray hasn’t spoken since. Nor has he flashed a hint of a smile, even in response to mine.

After weeks of one-sided smiles, I began passing him the sack in poker-faced silence.

For which, as I write this, I’m reproaching myself. Starting tomorrow, I will smile and greet Ray by name.

Once.