💅 Don’t Call Me Ma’am, I’m Hot Josh

I was just trying to order a Spicy Deluxe Combo from a drive-thru—classic craving, nothing outrageous. It was a Wednesday, I was 27, and I remember because I was wearing my gray hoodie with the bleach stain I had convinced myself was “a vibe.”

I roll up to the speaker.

“Hi, welcome to Chick-”
And before the sentence could even finish, the voice goes:
“Ma’am, can you speak up?”

Ma’am.
MA’AM.

Excuse me? Hot Josh is many things: punctual, glowing, emotionally unbothered—but ma’am is not one of them.

I froze. I felt my dignity trying to crawl out of the car.

“No offense,” I said, “but if we’re throwing around honorifics, let’s at least get the pronouns right.”

A pause. Then a stammered, “Oh, uh—sorry, sir?”

It was too late. The entitlement switch flipped on. I wasn’t even mad. I was activated.

I pulled around, took off my hoodie like I was about to do a catwalk, fixed my hair in the rearview mirror, and glided to the window like I was about to audition for America’s Next Top Customer.

The kid at the window looked 15 and terrified. I smiled.

“Do I look like a ma’am?”
He blinked. “No?”
“Exactly. That’s the energy. Let’s match it next time.”

I took my sandwich and large waffle fries with the grace of a red carpet queen and drove off like nothing had happened. Did I circle back just to repeat the order into the speaker in a deeper voice? Maybe.

Consequences?

I now get called “boss,” “king,” or sometimes just “uhhh” at drive-thrus.

Lesson Learned?

Entitlement isn’t always about getting what you want—it’s about reminding the world that you are Hot Josh, and respect is the minimum.