Sunday I stopped by Orb K. I noticed they'd moved their lottery ticket board off center. It leans up against the front of the counter, from the floor. Once I memorized the number of the tickets I wanted, I stepped over to the only open register, on the right side.
The clerk was standing behind the middle register. They have a lot of stuff on the counter there. Sometimes you can't see what's going on behind it. And they're on an elevated platform. The better to see us, you'd think. But you'd be wasting your thinking cap.
I figured maybe that gal was finishing up a transaction, or looking at the gas pumps. It's a busy store, with over 20 pumps outside. I hadn't seen this young clerk here before. Apparently, she was just inattentive. She probably had her cell phone out. After a couple minutes of idle waiting (not that I had any other pressing engagements), the little gal said...
"Oh, I'm sorry sir."
What in the NOT-HEAVEN? I was the only freakin' customer in the store!
"I mean ma'am."
Sweet Gummi Mary! That little gal better be double-sorry. First, for ignoring me while I waited for her to finish sexting her boyfriend or whatever she was doing back there. Second, for calling me a SIR!
Seriously. Mrs. HM does NOT look like a sir! Not that there's anything wrong with that. Still. I have not yet seen moobs (the nomenclature used at the Semi Weekly Meeting of the Newmential Lunch Time Think Tank to designate man-boobs) that could approach the boobage of Mrs. HM's rack.
I've got to get Farmer H back on track so he can finish building my proposed handbasket factory.