How Did He Know My Name?

I've lived in the neighborhood for 11 years. Same apartment. Same landlord. Same neighbors. This block is one of the last dying breeds in the 'hood.

For 11 years, I've said hello to the man who owns the fruit stand, the family who owns the coffee shop, the cooks at the restaurant, and the butchers next door. Admittedly, I look forward to saying hello to the butcher next door.

For 11 years, the response has been "Hi, honey," "Hi, sweetheart," "Hi, dear," - it depends on who is doing the hellos, and it's very old-school Italian. I would find it insulting if an average Joe off the street greeted me with "sweetie", but from him, I don't seem to mind. For 11 years, it's never bothered me.

Finally, after 11 years, he greeted me with my name. Instead of "sweetheart", "cutie," "love," or "dear," I was me. It stopped me in my tracks. Not only because the sound of my name sounded perfect from his mouth, but also because I have no idea his name!

In 11 years, I've never walked into the butcher store. I don't have a problem with meat. I just don't know how to order it. Or what to order. Or what to cook. Or how to cook it. So, I never went in to the store. For 11 years I walked by, and was always greeted with a hello. Now, it's personal.

How did he know my name?