PLEASE Stop Thanking Me

When I was young, and our phones were wired to the wall, and we fed our computers on papertape and punchcards, people often ended conversations with "Have A Nice Day!"

Even machines would flash that phrase in little red LEDs following some kind of transaction. Or a big sign on the top of the machine would light up, sometimes with a smiling face. I remember that as being the cause of my one unpleasant introduction to Airport Security. It was in San Francisco International Airport, 1967.

Admittedly, I was not in the world's greatest mood going in to the incident. I had just paid for a 5,000 mile plane trip to hear my fiancee tell me that she was not going to marry me (the original purpose of the trip). Apparently, she had decided the guy who lied his way out of military service (with the enthusiastic help of his parents) was a far better prospect. So I was now on my way back, trying to figure out how I was going to get my deposit back on an apartment, explain to my friends how it was "Mike's Angel" wasn't on the plane, etc., etc., etc.

So I put my last pocket change (this was prior to machines accepting bills) into a soft drink machine, made my selection, and watched the machine dispense the drink, the ice, and the paper cup -- in that order. As I stared at the cup sitting on its plinth of crushed ice, I caught a flashing light out of the peripheral vision. A previously blank strip of plastic, roughly ten inches by the width of the machine, was now backlit to show a group of happy people lifting identical paper cups and a caption that read "Have A Nice Day!!". Before this, I had never kicked a vending machine. I chose this moment, while a couple of Airport Security types were walking past, to break that record.

Fortunately, I had changed into my uniform (required for the 20% discount at the time), and they let me explain. Eventually, they let me proceed to my aircraft, and all was well. Getting frisked by the 60s equivalent of a small-town mall cop was more than a little embarrassing, but it did bring the hollow nature of such phrases into focus. Obviously, the thirty cents worth of peanut bulb, relay, and graphic did not care how my day was going to turn out. But neither did the various people who had expressed a similar wish during that particular stay in the States. It just pretty much came out as one long composite: haveaniceday.

Now we have "thank you for your service." It may be sincere every once in a while, but I've given up trying to sort the sincere from the merely trendy. Sometimes, there are clues. Partly my fault, I suppose. When asked for an I.D., I hand people my I.D. When asked for a driving license, I hand them a driving license.

The I.D. is a DD Form 2 (retired). It is issued by the Federal government, and is quite difficult to counterfeit. The driving license is issued by the State of Oregon, and, judging from the array of fakes found every time a high school does a no-notice sweep of lockers, can be counterfeited easily and at minimal cost. Since the point of asking is to compare my name signature, and picture with the name, signature, and picture on a credit card, a cheque, or some other item, it would seem natural to go for the less easily adulterated.

But I spend a lot of time in California, helping to care for my mother, and (as several store and branch managers have explained), most cashiers and bank tellers are trained to ask for an I.D. when they want to see the customer's California Driving License. Since I don't have one of those (although I do have a local checking account with my name and local address printed on them), I wind up having to discuss the matter with whoever holds the next level position. Convincing them that Oregon is allowed to issue licenses, and that many people do not have the California version is a cinch compared to trying to convince them that the Federal Document, which is supposed to trump local, county, and state documents, is all right. It usually gets resolved in a dozen or so minutes, or I go to another store/bank where I've already had this discussion.

And as I depart, what do I hear? Exactly: "Thank you for your service." Sometimes they add "have a nice day!!" This is, after all, California.

How does one respond? Negative words or gestures are churlish, and the person may have been sincere. Ignoring is all right, but we are trained from early childhood that statements require responses. So, if the wish for a nice day (whatever that might mean) is appended, I use the California standard "You, too." If the speaker sounds the slightest bit sincere, I smile, nod, and say "It's an honor to serve." If it's the person working the TSA line at the airport, I thank them for their service, since it helps me have a higher probability of getting to my destination in one piece.

I didn't join the United States Air Force so that somebody would thank me. In those days, they really did spit at you in public places in the States. I didn't go to places where they shot at me, or where I checked the underside of my vehicle for various devices prior to getting into it (EVERY TIME) so that somebody would thank me. I didn't spend 26 years of my life in that uniform so that someone would thank me. The actual reasons are lengthy, and far too long to explore here.

So I know most of you mean well, but please don't thank me unless you mean it. And do NOT thank me if I can't use my I.D. as one of two pieces of identification to cash a local check. Thank you for your attention. Have a nice day.