Really, I’m not.
My client wanted me to meet with his boss and asked me to ride with him. I agreed and got into the passenger seat of his car where I immediately noticed part of a girl’s weave on the floor.
Me: “What’s the hair on your floor from?”
Client: “Oh that’s just pet hair. Some dog or something must have left it behind.”
Me: “(Slight confused pause, knowing I should not press the matter but too curious to not continue) This is definitely human hair. I can see the end of the weave.”
Client: “Oh, well, um, no. I think it’s probably dog hair. It must be dog hair. (Long pause) Maybe it’s hair, I don’t know. It’s not like I’m a murderer or anything. Don’t go snooping for fingernails or anything like that. (Awkward laugh)”
Me: “(Long pause with probably a somewhat quizzical look on my face) Yea.. I wasn’t thinking that at—”
Client: “And I’m not a cross-dresser or anything like that. I’m not gay. (Long pause) Can we not talk about this anymore? I’d like to just act like this conversation didn’t happen.”
Me: “Yea, that’s perfectly fine.”
Client: “I’m really not gay.”
(Nothing was then said for the rest of the 25 minute car ride.)
