we all make assumptions ... whether or not we intentionally do so. we make assumptions about people based on their ethnicity, their gender and their hair color. we make assumptions about people based on the way they walk, the way they hold themselves and the way they pick their nose on the metro. we make assumptions when two girls hold hands or when we overhear an awkward conversation between two people on what can only be assumed to be their first date.

we make assumptions when (hypothetically, of course) a lady gets out of a hypothetical silver volvo in a parking lot that is hypothetically in st. louis, slams the door and shouts "you're not that lucky and i'm not that desperate!"

but maybe that only happens hypothetically with spi and me.

anyway.

i am always curious about the assumptions people make about me (well, especially curious when the assumption isn't based on a well crafted drama scene in a parking lot.) am i a "big" girl? am i awkward? am i annoying? do i look stupid in flip flops and a suit? really now: do i have a big butt?

yesterday was a small insight into that curiosity.

after a near internal combustion at work, i decided i needed to get some fresh air. and some cash. nothing puts me in a good mood like holding cash. which, like most twentysomethings i know, is quickly deflated by subsequently looking at my bank statement.

so, i stopped by the atm to restock my "emergency $20" which i depleted earlier in the day at starbucks (grande-nonfat-dry-vanilla-cappuccinos are expensive). i pushed the $40 withdrawal button, but only received $20. frustrated, i went into the adjoining bank to explain the situation to customer service. a very handsome man was tending the desk.

"not to insult your intelligence, but are you sure you pushed $40?"

"99% sure," i said

"well let's check it out." so he took my card and photo id and scanned it. while we were waiting, he asked how my weekend was.

"i spent the entire weekend writing applications."

"for what?" he asked.

"law school and business schools."

he looked at me skeptically. "well which one?"

"both," i said.

he stopped what he was doing.

"so i guess that means i'm moron and only pushed $20?" i asked.

"still don't know," he replied. "i'm trying to figure out how a cute girl like you wants to turn her pretty curls gray with that much school." this is the problem with being notuglynotpretty. we get hit on by bus drivers and customer service representatives at banks, but never abercrombie employees.

turns out, i only hit $20.

"damn," i mumbled.

shit. this guy probably assumed i was trying to pull a scam to steal money. and then stupid over here said "damn" as if my plan had been foiled. stupid stupid stupid.

then a worse fear came over me. this guy was probably thinking that there was no chance in hell this moron was going to get into any grad school; she couldn't even hit the right button on the atm. i left; devasted.

there is no assumption that i fear more than being assumed to be a moron.

i spent the entire day worrying about it and decided i would go clear up the misconception with the manager the following day. i definitely don't want him to go through life thinking that i'm a moron; i'll probably reassure him i wasn't trying to steal either.

end of scene.

scene two:

when i left teaching lsat class last night at 10pm, a cab driver picked me up in front of the holiday inn, the hotel in which my class is being held this term.

"are you just leaving work?" he asked.

"yes," i replied digging for my cell phone.

silence.

"do you always work this late?"

"just a couple times a week," i said.

it was quiet.

"do you always work at the same hotel?"

"yes," i responded, thinking this was a weird question. then it hit me. this guy thought i was a hooker.

"i'm a teacher," i began.

"... that's an interesting way to put it. what do you teach?"

"the law school admissions test."

it was quiet again. haha. who's the moron now?

"what's on the test?" he asked.

"reading and answering some questions. and types of games."

"games?"

great. this guy first thought i was a hooker at the holiday inn and now thinks i play a mean game of candyland.

when we reached my apartment, i gave him the atm $20 and slipped out of the car as fast as i could.

i guess i'm okay with people thinking i sleep around and teach scrabble. as long as they don't think i'm stupid. afterall, mastering assumptions is what i teach in class, even if i can't master them in the real world.