I got misgendered by the clerk at a CVS pharmacy. "Would you mind using the self checkout, sir?" I said, "I'm a ma'am, and this will be my first time" as I walked to the infernal scanner, and then she hurried over and said, "Since you're so adamant about it, I will help you at the main register." I said, "I'm not adamant, but I don't want to use a machine that's meant to replace humans. You're the human who's here, so I'll work with you." 

At her register, like every one of the dozens of times I've worked with her in that store over the years, she asked, "Are you a rewards member or do you have a phone number with us?" before the machine prompts you to enter your number. And if you start to give her the number, she'll tell you to enter it, and just about then the machine will let you do that. Every. F'n. Time. The capper was, of three items total, she rang up one item twice, and another, a bathroom scale for which I'd previously bothered her to ask where they were located, wouldn't scan and she finally had to manually enter the product number. That was my perfect opportunity to say, "I'm glad I didn't use self-checkout." Which I still never have done, ha. I was all low-key, using my normal, not masculine, speaking voice, and displaying my usual smile. I kept my cool, I ain't no fool. 

Fifteen minutes later, I was waiting to use the bathroom at Safeway, which was being serviced. The attendant saw me waiting as he was finishing up and said, "Sorry, ma'am." His two word act was required to restore order in the universe, and also, because I look like a f'n ma'am, not a f'n man, beotch. 

By the way, I just had come from getting my nails done, looking like shiny disco balls.  My hair is the longest it's ever been in my 68 years. My skin is soft and smooth, and all facial hair has been zapped away by electrolysis. My lips, breasts, belly, and hips have never looked better, and I was wearing this outfit. The black blouse was one of the first feminine pieces I ever purchased, with pleats and flared out at the hips. After four years of estrogen, I now have hips and a butt that nicely fill out this unique embroidered denim skirt. My go-to blue jacket, and long socks that coordinate with the skirt and blouse, because it's winter and not time for bare arms and legs and sandals yet. Bonus pic for the chasers: toes. I've got ten of them, you freaks.   

The "sir" didn't bother me as much as the fact that she'd misgender me after years of going to that store where she always seems to be, and often alone like she was on this Sunday evening. I get that you're tired of running around the store opening up locked cases because people may want to purchase something, not just view it through glass. I get that you deal with a lot of people, and not everyone leaves an impression. But c'mon.

I'm sure I will never be clocked again by her because this time I made a lasting impression.  After I get my vaginoplasty, I'd be tempted to flash my new parts at her if it happens. Guess that wouldn't be very ladylike. 

And that's why I posted a selfie in this sub, to accompany and illustrate the story.

Kara in SF, almost 69 (nice!) and not suffering fools gladly. Jersey girls take no shit.

Ahhh Wham Bam I'm a Ma'am