I appeal to all you wise women out there to either (1) applaud or (2) call me an oversensitive middle aged bitch. Here's what happened:
Car had to go in for service; I go to pick up a rental to bridge the gap.
Clerk (call him Mike) is a guy about mid twenties, nicely groomed, very friendly in that I've-been-trained-to smile-like-this way. When we finish with the paperwork he asks me to have a seat, Joe will be right in to take me to the car. I'd just as soon do this on my own, but hey. It's their policy. I can wait. A couple minutes.
Ten minutes later when I'm about to put a stop to the ridiculous idea that I need somebody to walk me to plain vanilla rental car, Joe comes in.
Mike is helping other customers. In a loud voice, he says "Joe! That young lady over there needs help!"
As I am the only other person in the office, he clearly means me. I get that flash of heat followed by a white fury that only descends a couple times a year. Joe starts to come over, but I ignore him for the moment, and stalk up to the counter. "Excuse me," I say to the people Mike is helping. And then to Mike:
"Listen, it's utterly inappropriate to refer to me as young lady. It's condescending and rude. I'm old enough to be your mother."
Mike sputters: but but but. I'm having none of it.
"No BUTS. Would you refer to me as a young lady if you knew I was the senior neurosurgeon at the hospital? How about a nun? I thought not. It's rude. Don't do it again."
When I told the Mathematician this story, he says: the guy's going to be awake all night.
To which I protest: I wasn't THAT mean.
That's not it, sez the Mathematician. He's got to be wondering why a senior neurosurgeon nun was renting a car.