Ma’am
The cashier guy at CompUSA called me “ma’am.” TWICE.
Let me make this clear. I am not a ma’am.
Ma’am is matronly. Ma’am is not youthful and spontaneous. Ma’am is straight-laced. Ma’am is not sexy. Ma’am is my mother. Ma’am is not me.
He saw my driver’s liscence, he saw my birthdate. He should know better than to call me that.
CompUSA should know better than that. They should make me their customer of the year. After all, in the past year I have either purchased myself or been involved in the purchase of three network cards, a hub, a cable modem, a couple hundred feet of Cat 5, a few wall sockets for ethernet lines, four webcams, an Olympus digital camera, a 32 MB Smart Media card, three scanners, one HP 952C Desk Jet, several software titles including The Sims and 3 copies of expansion packs and Black & White and Myst 3: Exile, one CD-RW and probably another one at Christmas, Networking for Dummies, and a 40 GB hard drive. I may very well buy a laptop there next spring, too. So after I’ve been responsible for buying thousands of dollars of merchandise, they still call me ma’am? Really, what is the world coming to?
