I was zoning in back to school for four hours today (translation: I was straightening up merchandise in the area where we sell notebooks and pencils, etc. and torment children with the idea that their summer is almost over.) A lady, her daughter and her son had approached me about four times asking where things were. On the fifth and final time she told her daughter, "he's our go to guy!" I responded, "ma'am, I'm not a guy." She looked at me. "I'm a woman." Her son was standing between us. She exclaimed, "no you're not!" I stepped to the side so she could see me better, glanced pointedly down at my boobs and said "yes, I am." "Oh my G*d, I'm so sorry." Funny, but a little distressing.
Wouldn't you know it, a little later I was helping another woman and when I finished she said, "thank you, sir. You've been very helpful." I answered, "you're very welcome, but I'm not a man." She looked at me and said, "I'm so sorry, you would think I would know better! I needed laser for this beard on my face and my voice is deep. I get called a man on the phone all the time!" Her name, by the way, was Francis. We had a nice chat about laser, electrolysis and not wanting to talk for an hour or so when we get up 'cause our voices are lower.
Sometimes, even when we don't pass, we pass.
