True story.
A few years ago, I had a Christmas job courtesy of my temp agency of the moment, in the gift wrap booth at the mall.
Recipe for foolishness: very small booth, several giggling women with complete disdain for people who PAY to have their gifts wrappped, and a guaranteed paycheck no matter how poorly we did.
(A little background: I am NOT a good gift wrapper. My mom is the queen of gift wrappage. She can take piece of newspaper and some string and make it look like the Pope's bar mitzvah present.
I use grocery bags a lot. )
The price to have a gift wrapped, other than taking whispered abuse from us gifty elves in the booth, depended on the dimensions. A scarf was naturally less to wrap than a tricycle. So my first question, in answer to the customer's first question of "How much is it?" would be: "How big is your package?"
It took me three days to realize that I was consistently asking men how big their package was. Over and over and over.
Of course, once I noticed, I was incapable of saying it without going into a giggle fit.
"That's IT!" I told my coworkers, who found it as hilarious as I did. "I'm not saying that anymore."
And I kept my word. When our next customer, a novelty in herself, being a woman, and asked how much, I was ready:
"How big is your box?"
And I kept getting paid.
Posted by LeeAnn at December 18, 2003 05:03 PMHAHA! You take the joys where you can find them. What's better is when the customer has no clue...which they usually don't.
Posted by: Serenity at December 19, 2003 08:41 PMWell, she could said that she wanted a stuffed kitty wrapped.
Posted by: Jim-Parkway Rest Stop at December 19, 2003 09:17 PMWhen my wee wifey tried working as a waitress, nobody taught her how to fill a beer glass, which led to a similarly awkward conversation regarding head.