image taken from http://www.wtsafety.com/
My rough and tough exterior has come through once more. What rough and tough exterior you ask? Well, in an earlier post I told the story about the warehouseman assuming I was a truck driver, and this morning, it happened again!
I went to get a haircut. Now I will admit that I don’t go to a suave and sophisticated place to get my haircut, because if I did, I’d not be mistaken for a truck driver of course. I go to Supercuts, a discount chain hair place. I have pretty good hair and have never felt the need to pamper my head.
The young lady who cut my hair was great, she was full of personality and cute, and we talked about lots of stuff. Most of it focused on driving through big traffic and cross border trips. So, a mistake was inevitable. However, in the midst of my never ending joke telling and general snappy patter, she asked me if I still worked. This was a sign she knew I was old!
I admitted I did and she asked me if I drove for a living. Now even I will admit that she could have meant a bus or a cab, but I chose to go up that ladder and think she meant a truck, because cross border stuff is generally not a cab.
I was sophistically dressed in very dirty, rumpled jeans, a black T-shirt and a blue sweatshirt, my usual attire. It was hardly Ralph Lauren stuff, but it might have been. My shoes were leather, but scuffed and well broken in.
I think, given our conversation, she made a wise choice. I told her what I did and she seemed disappointed.
I think she would have preferred a truck-drivin’ man to a trained professional!
I went to get a haircut. Now I will admit that I don’t go to a suave and sophisticated place to get my haircut, because if I did, I’d not be mistaken for a truck driver of course. I go to Supercuts, a discount chain hair place. I have pretty good hair and have never felt the need to pamper my head.
The young lady who cut my hair was great, she was full of personality and cute, and we talked about lots of stuff. Most of it focused on driving through big traffic and cross border trips. So, a mistake was inevitable. However, in the midst of my never ending joke telling and general snappy patter, she asked me if I still worked. This was a sign she knew I was old!
I admitted I did and she asked me if I drove for a living. Now even I will admit that she could have meant a bus or a cab, but I chose to go up that ladder and think she meant a truck, because cross border stuff is generally not a cab.
I was sophistically dressed in very dirty, rumpled jeans, a black T-shirt and a blue sweatshirt, my usual attire. It was hardly Ralph Lauren stuff, but it might have been. My shoes were leather, but scuffed and well broken in.
I think, given our conversation, she made a wise choice. I told her what I did and she seemed disappointed.
I think she would have preferred a truck-drivin’ man to a trained professional!
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