he said what?!

the man was tall, but not big. his roundness was evenly distributed for his height. his greying hair peeked out around the edges of his well worn cap.

his clothes looked as if they'd been washed a thousand times over, soft spots in the fabric were easily noticeable. the man's smile was friendly, despite the jagged bits of teeth that seemed to dance in every direction across his mouth.

the pungent, yet not altogether unpleasant odor of white lilies hung in the air as he rinsed their stems in the sink. his eyes were focused intently upon the work at his hands.

and so, with this initial impression, i was disarmed.

as i washed my hands in the adjacent sink, we said our polite hellos. i turned my back to him as i reached for the paper towels to dry my hands, thinking our exchange was complete.

'so you work here, in the kitchen?' he asked me as i walked back to my table.

i answered him with a friendly smile of my own, and a simple yes.

'what do you do, work the salad bar?'

this was confusing to me, someone who tends to take things literally more often than not, as there was no salad bar anywhere in the manor house that we catered events from. i may have shown this in my face with some sort of unattractive brow wrinkling and nose twisting. his next remark was more to his point.

'i mean, all you do is make salads and stuff, right?'

oh. i finally got his implication, that because i'm a woman my job must be to make salad. the old florist was, in his sexist way, just trying to make conversation.

i asked him, 'why would you assume that? because i'm a woman?'

his grin was wide, his eyes sparkled at my eventually coming to understand his statement. this must have made him feel more comfortable. 'yeah, that's it. because, you don't cook here, all by yourself.'

that last part wasn't a question.

while i felt my face flush and my palms sweat, i knew that i was very, very close to saying some rude things to this man, this stranger who had only minutes before won me over with his gentle touch of the beautiful lilies.

the insult that i felt was growing exponentially by the second as my brain took his friendly smile and then interpreted it as smug. at the peak of my indignation, however, i realized that no matter what i said his opinion would never be changed.

i opened up my knife bag and took out my eight inch suisson chef's knife. its carved wooden handle, slim and molded to my grip, and it's gleaming stainless steel blade sharp enough to cut bone, helped me to center my thoughts and block out the man's ignorance.

at least, i thought to myself, i have a way cooler weapon than your words, old man.