Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Boobies

I’m a woman working at the auto parts counter — Will Call — where I help bring people their parts. Right in front of me, a customer decides I have less than no idea what the h*** I’m talking about and turns to a regular standing nearby.

Customer: “You look like you know what you’re doin’. Are you a tech? I need [starts describing his parts].”

The regular points to me — on the JOB SIDE of the counter.

Regular: “I don’t work here; I’m picking up something, too.”

I take back the conversation.

Me: “Sir, are you picking up today?”

Customer: “Yeah, I’m looking for someone in Parts ‘cause I have a question.”

Me: “How can I help you?”

He keeps looking at my T-shirt (my boobs) and not facing me fully.

Customer: “Yeah, I just need to talk to someone about my repairs.”

As if I’m a florist, not a parts employee.

Me: “Okay, so you haven’t created an order yet?”

Customer: “No, I have a question.”

Me: “Cool, maybe I can direct you to the right place. You’re at Will Call. Service is—” *points* “—that way, and Sales is—” *points* “—up front. That’s where you can create an order.”

He literally balks like I’M THE ONE CONFUSED and starts heading out the door.

I look back at our regular customer.

Me: “You caught that, right? I don’t know a d*** thing about the auto parts I sling every day because I was born with t**ties?”

Regular: *Cracking up* “I guess so!”

Related:
Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 25
Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 24
Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 23
Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 22
Can’t Hear You Over The Sound Of Your Ovaries, Part 21