Howdy, Partner!

You are one tough customer.

Guests welcome.

I don’t want your pity.

Everyone has life challenges. Sometimes it’s excruciating but brief. Sometimes it’s a staycation in an inner circle of hell. But either way there’s no point posing as a stoic tough guy.

This shit hurts. Today [AUDIO: Minor organ chord] I had to go to CVS. God help me.

The business model at the pharmacy chain is pretty simple: one employee per 100,000 customers, each worker lashed with a boar’s-hide whip if they are detected not in motion. Still, the line at the prescription counter is basically the Bataan Death March, except lined with offers like house-brand corn pads and three Blistex for the price of two. Wanna get rich? Set up a chili dog stand at the end of the line. CVS corporate will gouge you for the concession, but demand a Maalox display next to the Blistex and a 40% rev share. Then start boat shopping.

But that’s not the point.

The point is what the shopper at the front of the line finally hears: “Next guest, please.”

Ever have a party … and it’s 1 am … and you finally get the stragglers headed for the door? Do you ask for their credit cards? Do you mark up the brisket 40,000%? Do you hand them a receipt longer than the Menendez Brothers transcript? No, you kiss them goodnight, close the door and start on the dishes. And the dishing.

That’s a “guest.” What CVS has, but refuses to say out loud, are “customers.” It is not hospitality, it is commerce. “Patron” would do the trick, but this is 2025 and nobody knows what “patron” means, or “erstwhile,” or Jackie Gleason or “mink stole.” Everyone still knows what “semen” means, but it turns their stomach to utter it. For retail businesses, “customer” is the semen of economics.

You think anyone at CVS thinks you’re a guest? Try not paying for your Blistex and Ozempic. Then you’ll find out how gracious your hosts are. If you expect to leave with a slice of leftover cheesecake, you are living in Pharma Brigadoon. You’re less of a guest than partying revelers down at Centro de Confinamiento del Terrorismo in El Salvador. They feed the guests there, gratis.

In business-to-business-speak, there’s a similar glossary of lies. They don’t have customers, suppliers, banks, vendors; they have “partners.”

Howdy, partner. We see you’re 48 hours late with your net 90-day payment obligation for gum arabic/avionics components/tire air valves or whatever you partner with us for in exchange for money. See you in court. We will get our pound of flesh.

Your trusted partner,
Hal

Why so many dishonest euphemisms in the basic vocabulary of business? Why is gambling called “gaming”? It isn’t. In a game, the outcome is uncertain.

Why does the supermarket cashier teammate, having rung you up with all the “discounts” you get for surrendering 100% of your shopping data, announce that you saved $37.21? Oh, did I? No, I spent $232.50 and got a small kickback for telling you exactly how much fungal ointment and Count Chocula I consume.

Then you go to lunch. “Would you like your change?” the waiter asks, trying to sound polite while turning a gratuity (definition: unnecessary voluntary payment) into a shakedown.

“Yes, Zander, bring me my change and I’ll decide what to do next.”

By the way, during Covid many of us started leaving bigger tips to compensate for the servers’ lower volume of business. Now it has been institutionalized in the card-payment process with these options: 10%, 15%, 20%, 25% and 30%.

Me, I sometimes leave 30% or more at a diner, where the work is hard and the checks are low. At an expensive restaurant 15% or 20% if the server laughed at my jokes. But, to paraphrase the late Daniel Patrick Moynihan (never mind; dead politician!) we are “defining ‘gratuity’ up.”

Car dealerships are masters of the euphemism grift. Not only do they squeeze you for a Dealer Service Charge for the privilege of giving them $47,000 in the showroom, in the repair garage they ding you for “shop supplies,” which are really a cost of doing business called “overhead.” Do they charge you for electric lighting and waiting room chairs?

Look, it’s not just CVS I’m talking about. If anything about this sounds familiar to you, no wonder. The same lies, wordplay, utterly false promises and explanations are the foundation of double-talk you hear every day.

Why not go back a few weeks ago to read my tutorial on “tariffs.”

Truly, be my guest.