The Face Says It All

I've been told that I have an authorative look.  I apparently carry myself in a way that people assume that I am in charge.  Many times I am at a store (be it groceries, clothing or otherwise) and people stop to ask "Excuse me, is this on sale?"  "Do you have any more of these steaks in the back?"  Or my personal favorite, "Miss?  The bathrooms could use some freshening."  Really?  Do I look like I work here?  Or do employees usually walk around with a coat and purse, masquerading as other shoppers?  I'm obviously lacking the butcher's white coat, orange Home Depot apron or red polo at Target.  And rest assured, I do not wear a nametag.

Yesterday was a pretty funny one, though.  I've been working at my new site, taking applications from seniors while the complex is being built.  My mom has been kind to come out of retirement for a couple of days to give me a hand.  (And who better, she was in the business for many years and knows exactly what to do!)  It's been a little slow-going, but it's just the beginning and we have thirty spots to fill, not a hundred.  Anyway, I took a short break to go to the post office and the pizza place downtown, to pick up lunch and check our mail.  I was driving on the backroads to get back to the church hall, when I see a silver car coming in the opposite direction that I am traveling.  The woman driving sees me, and starts flagging me down.  What is that about, is everything ok?  Confused, I stop in the middle of the street and roll down my window.  "Can I help you?"  She is lost and is looking for the church.  I start telling her how to get there, but after a couple of sentences I know that she is not going to find it on her own, and she says something to the tune of "I just want to fill out an application for a new apartment, I really hate where I'm living and need a change."  So I sigh and say "Well, I'm the one giving out the applications.  Why don't you just follow me back there?"  And off we go, at an incredibly speedy five miles per hour.  It ends up taking half an hour to fill out the application interview-style, because "she just doesn't get paperwork."  On the way out, she compliments Mom on her short haircut, saying it's like her own and it's great, because "Only pretty girls can pull off short hair like ours."  I take a gaze at my own shoulder-length locks and think, "What, I'm not pretty?"  :)

So as you can see....I don't even need to be in a store for the "authorative look" to be present.  Apparently my car is "I'm in Charge" looking enough.

Note:  the only time the "Do you work here?" convo doesn't take place is when I have the boys with me.  Score one point for shopping with them.  (And deduct a few for the taking off of shoes and socks in the aisles and begging for candy.)