Blog Stuff: I'm just a girl...

As a woman working in a rather testosterone-soaked profession, I manage to accumulate some pretty droll war stories. Here, for your amusement, are a couple of gems from the last week:

1) I was getting ready to bolt out of the shop on an errand, when I noticed a customer milling about with that "I haven't been helped yet" look on his face. Since the sales floor is my responsibility, I decided to rectify the situation.
Me: "Can I help you, sir?"
Customer: "I need to speak with Alex."
M: "He's off today, sir. Is it perhaps something I can assist you with?"
C: "No, I don't think so. Tell him that Mr. X came in with that trade we'd talked about."
M: "Well, sir, I'm the person he'd refer you to; I handle the pricing on all incoming trades. May I see the gun in question?"
C: "Well, with his, er, beard and everything, I thought he was one of the owners..."
M: "No, sir, he's one of our sales professionals. Would you like me to look at the trade?"
C: (Reluctantly handing it over) "It's kind of esoteric, you see, it's a..."
M: "...Smith & Wesson 624 no-dash with a 4" barrel and Herrett's stocks, mid-'80s production. I see. Do you have the factory box & docs? The original grips? The tools?"
C: *Insert sound of crickets chirping*

2) Milling about behind the counter, frantically engaged in some errand or another, I notice a customer determinedly approaching me.
Me: : "Can I help you, si..."
Customer: "Yes, what I need you to do is this: As a licensed gun store, you can receive a firearm for me that I have purchased from an out-of-state store. I don't give you the money; this is just a transfer, so I've already sent payment to them. What I do is give you an address to send a copy of your Federal Firearms License off to. You'll need to have your boss sign it in ink. Then they'll... yada yada blablabla"
I didn't have the heart to tell this guy that I was the sales manager, and had probably handled enough FFL transfers in the last dozen years to make his eyes glaze over almost as bad as his painstakingly detailed instructions were causing mine to; plus, the place he wanted me to send an FFL to already had one of ours on file. I just nodded, smiled politely, and told him I'd try to get my boss to take care of it.

3) I noticed one of my floor minions attempting to help a customer put a freshly-purchased Hogue Monogrip on his old S&W revolver. She was reading him the instructions, but the actual process of sliding the grip on was causing the poor guy no end of frustration. I tried to elbow in:
"Sir? Can I...? Wait... Let me..."
I finally managed to get the gun away from him.
"Well, now," he said to me, "That thing's a mite tricky. There's kind of a thing stickin' out of the frame, and there's sorta a track thing in the grip and..."
*FOOP* I slid the grip on, and reached for a screwdriver to tighten it down.
"See?" said his wife, jocularly elbowing him in the ribs, "It was just waitin' for a woman to come along to show you how to put it on!"
"Wait," he said, with an accusing look, "You've done that before, haven't you?"
"Once or twice," I allowed.

I love my job, and not least for the occasional moments of unintentional humor it includes.