Big Guy

This morning I got called “Big Guy” four (4) times in a span of 1.5 minutes, and it might’ve changed my relationship with one man forever.

“Big Guy” is rarely used among males with the intention of expressing awe at one’s bigness, and this was no exception. For context, I’m pretty tall but also pretty wimpy and young-looking, and the gentleman who was calling me Big Guy probably has a solid 2 inches, 90 pounds, 10 years, and 6 tattoos on me. He works in my company’s cafeteria and he is a white guy (you were assuming, weren’t you) whose name might or might not be Mike.

I think “Big Guy” is usually used in a way to suggest that a fellow is cute without having to use the word “cute.” Not cute in a romantic way but cute as in aren’t you pathetic and cheek-pinchingly adorable. I regularly call my dog Big Guy, for example (“Bigs” for short). It’s my way of lovably saying that he so does not intimidate me.

So I wasn’t sure what to make of this rapid-fire Big Guy action. Should I be insulted? Should I throw something? Should I display my manhood by puffing my chest and challenging him to a match of table tennis?

But he seemed in a good mood. I didn’t sense a disparaging or condescending tone. It seemed like he was just trying to be friendly and informal. And he was making my scrambled eggs, so I wasn’t going to bristle.

But when it came time to express my gratitude for the scrambled eggs, I wasn’t going to use my typical adieu of, “Thanks. Have a good’n.” Special occasions call for special adieus.

Him: “Here ya go, Big Guy.”

Me: “All right, Chief. Catch ya on the flip.”

It was hard to tell from his facial expression but I’m pretty sure in that moment our relationship was either firmly solidified or utterly destroyed.