That Time I Got Called "Sir"

So there I was in the Jackson airport, minding my own business.  

I had arrived at the airport hours before my flight was supposed to leave, thanks in large part to the fact that the pickup truck I had rented (aka the other piece of my heart) was due back by 2:00 pm, but my flight wasn't until 5:30 pm.  So, I had a lot of free time on my hands.

I milled around the ticket counter area for awhile, sorting through receipts and photographs and mementos from the trip.  I decided to finally make my way through security, find a quiet corner in the terminal and stretch out for awhile before the flight home, knowing I was about to be folded up into a little cube once I hit that airplane seat.  

The Jackson airport is small enough that only a handful of flights go out each day.  And the gate area is maybe half the size of a football field.  People were bustling about when I walked through security, as there were a couple of flights getting ready to board.  Unlike other airports, Jackson actually has legitimate furniture in the form of comfy leather couches, chairs and overstuffed ottomans.  Most of them had been taken over by soon-to-be-departing passengers, so I decided to bide my time until these next couple of flights took off and then I'd see about staking my claim on a leather couch.  

The 3:30 flight boarded and departed, and I discovered once they cleared out, there were a grand total of two other people left in the terminal.  Even airport staff was vanishing.  My 5:30 flight was the last flight out for the day, and since I was so early, there was hardly a soul around.  They actually temporarily closed down the security checkpoint, as one staff member informed me, telling me that if I wanted to leave the terminal I wouldn't be able to get back in for awhile.  I moseyed on over to the appointed leather couch, stretched out with my feet propped up, pulled out my latest reading selection of Friday Night Lights by H.G. Bissinger (brilliant book, by the way.  And we won't even talk about my recent obsession with the TV series) and settled in for the next couple of hours.  

Let me pause here and describe to you my appearance at this point, as this will prove highly relevant.  On days I know I am traveling, I tend to go as comfy and practical as possible.  So that morning I had pulled out my favorite pair of holey jeans, a plaid button-up shirt, my black fleece and a ball cap.  I had zero makeup on, which I didn't even bother to pack and hadn't worn for the entire trip.  I hadn't even bothered to wear any nail polish either, which is rare for me to go long without nail polish.  I also had a football book in my hands.

Okay, so back to the story.  I'm curled up on the couch, reading my book, when out of the corner of my eye, I spot this airport/TSA staff member heading my way.  He's kind of a big guy, holding a sticker-covered Nalgene bottle in his hands.  I look up and make eye contact with him, when he says, "Excuse me, sir, is this your water bottle?"

*Long pause while my brain does double-time, trying to process whether he's talking to me or some imaginary male figure sitting next to me.*

There isn't another soul within 200 feet.  Process of elimination: he's clearly directing this question at me.

"Eh, no, that's not mine," I said. 

And I could tell as soon as I opened my mouth that he realized his error, as he fumbled for a second and clearly got nervous.  

I didn't say anything else, and I didn't bother to correct him.  And he didn't bother to say anything else either, as he just kept walking right on by, eager to escape the awkwardness of the moment.

I texted my mom shortly thereafter and said, "I just got called 'sir'..."  First time for everything I guess.  

I suppose I can't blame the poor guy because I did kind of look like a boy, sitting there reading a football book.  And I always look like I don't have much hair anyway when I've got a ball cap on, given that it's so short to begin with.  When it gets tucked underneath a hat, then it really disappears.  So, I really wasn't offended by his mistake, and I even had a good laugh about it with family when I got home. 

But seriously, sir.

I am not a "sir".

Note to future self: ditch the ball cap, put on my some makeup, and avoid reading football books when traveling.  Maybe then I'll avoid a repeat of this little episode.