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I've always thought I had a knack for entertaining the overnight deli workers of New York. Starting at age 14, when I tap danced in a deli on the corner of 6th Avenue and Houston trying to vaudeville some free Chocodiles out of them on the way home from a party. My big number didn't work but they seemed to like it anyway, either for what it was or for making fun of the deluded crazy girl afterwards.

Older and slightly more inhibited, I now walk into stores and ask, "Excuse me, do you take stolen credit cards?" or "Where is the best place in here to shoplift?" The responses have been confused to appreciative. They're probably bored late at night and I'm a non-threat. What's the harm?

So last week, my friend and I stop into a deli on the L.E.S. I bring up to the counter a Diet Pepsi and a Luna bar -- in case anyone forgot, I am a female and I need the right nutrition for my woman parts. I start talking to the cashier who looked all business. I don't remember what exactly I said but it was probably dumb and jokey like "That's a dollar, right? That's what I paid last time. Don't be ripping me off, man!" He pretty much ignored me and gave me my bag and change.

Then my friend brought up a pecan pie that cost 75 cents. "For you, 50 cents," says the guy.

And I interject, "Wait, what?"

He says, "She's a quiet woman." And to her, "You are good."

Hey, a-hole, if you're going to hold a thing against women who speak, you better get the hell out of the L.E.S. Bluestockings is right down the street. And I'm sure dealing with wiseasses can be irritating but you don't have to be such a sexist dirtbag about it. Tell me to fuck off in a gender neutral manner, like I'm doing to you now. I dislike you for who you are inside, not for what you're packing downstairs. Let's move disagreement forward. Thanks. Have a mediocre day.