Peter, Not Pete
Peter at Bemelmans Bar at the Carlyle in NYC; Pete would be at a random sports bar back in Cleveland. I’m a Peter, not a Pete. I bristle at being called "Pete." I recently phoned a restaurant to place a carryout order. When the woman on the line looked up my number, she asked, “What are you in the mood for today, Pete ?” I was not in the mood to be called “Pete.” The audacity! I immediately corrected her. She probably thought I was being a prickly Peter, but I didn’t care. “Pete” is overly familiar. To my ears, it also sounds kind of dumb. I associate “Pete” with being a dumb jock. We used to have a Dominican man who worked for us. Every time he saw me, he triple-“Peted” me: “Hey, Pete. How you doing, Pete? Haven’t seen you in a while, Pete.” This made my shoulders hunch, and my hands tighten into fists. For all that, I once introduced myself as “Pete.” It was when I met my college roommates for the first time in 1980. I was nervous and thought “Pete” made me sound less upti...
