No One Wants Their Sex Questioned

They joy of working the census these past two weeks has been spending hours walking around the Ward, which is establishing me as a daily presence to VDOT workers, mailmen and assorted business owners, many of whom greet me like an old friend now.

Since I don't have problems talking to strangers (as one of my coworkers told me he did today; yeesh, bad job choice, buddy), it's not a particularly tough job and often results in some great exchanges in the 'hood.

We're required to ask certain questions of people when we enumerate them and you can imagine how some people react when you ask the obvious.

We're supposed to say, "Are you male or female?" which I usually paraphrase so as not to appear moronic.

Today a woman responded with, "Do you see ANY part of me that doesn't look like a woman's body?"

I think she thought I was challenging her femininity (or maybe she was just proud of the work she'd had done; who knows?), when really I was just talking government-speak.

For the record, I told her no.

Walking up Second Street, a group of three young guys were lounging outside a barber shop.

One told me that I was too young to be wearing such a cute flowered skirt to work in.

"For all you know, I'm old enough to be your mother, " I teased him and we exchanged ages.

"You could be my girlfriend definitely, but not my mother!" one said.

"Don't you guys have hair to cut?" I responded and took my flowered skirt on its way.

Passing the never-ending road repair work on Brook Road, one of the guys told me it was taking me as long to count people as it was taking them to fix the road.

Of course, there's ten of them to one of me, but either way, you're talking about your tax dollars at work, if you know what I mean.

Heading home down Marshall, I got my best comment of the day in front of Gallery 5 when a guy gave me a big smile and said, "You got a jazzy walk!"

Could there be a better way to walk the "Harlem of the South" than in a jazzy manner?

Didn't think so.