[TRANSCRIPTION:  “Ok I know I need to stop saying Ma’am and Sir to customers at work, it’s bad to assume other people’s gender, but I can’t help it it’s how I was raised. My mother was Southern and my father was a Bottom. Something about it always confuses the customers anyway, it could be the whole ..everything about me, but every time I say “Here you go ma’am here’s your change.” All I get is “Oh, thank you?” (the “you” trails off and ends in confusion.)

Suddenly our little game of social volleyball has turned into three dimensional gender chess and I’m eating all the pieces. I’ve got her fucking money in my hand so she knows that the only way she’s getting it back is if she solves my queer little fairy riddle and I’m not giving her any fucking clues.

Now all of a sudden this Karen is studying me with the intensity of a crime scene investigator. She’s stuck in her Sherlock Holmes mind palace trying to figure out if These are tits or just mosquito bites. Or if I’m a woman or just one of those femboys her kids keep showing around the Tik-Tok.

In the past sixty seconds my customer has thought more about men, women, and the terrifying pit where I lie in between than she ever has in her entire life beforehand. She is stuck in my transgender genjutsu.

Now the customer is always Wrong, because even if her little game of pronoun roulette happens to land in her favour she still stood there for a fucking minute mouth agape, fully admitting that whatever I’ve got going on beneath my jeans is Far beyond her comprehension.

If I’m going to be stuck in this capitalist nightmare for all eternity then every unsuspecting mother who comes in to buy a Roblox card is going to have to suffer through a gender identity crisis with me. /END ID]