I’ve been debating on posting this for a long time, and honestly, I really didn’t have a reason to—until just recently.

I was at a drive-through the other day, placing an order like I’ve done a thousand times before. When I pulled up to the window, I addressed the person there as “ma’am.” Simple. Automatic. The way I was raised.

And that’s when the wheels came off the wagon.

I had made the mistake of identifying the person at the window as the wrong gender. My mistake. I went purely by appearance. I’m one of those people who tends to call it like I see it. If it quacks like a duck, it must be a duck…right?

Apparently not.

The person at the window immediately began to chastise me for not reading their mind.

Now, let me stop right here and say this: I wasn’t trying to insult, provoke, belittle, or make a statement. I wasn’t being sarcastic. I wasn’t trying to be clever. I was just ordering food. Hungry, slightly impatient, and completely unprepared for a pop quiz on modern social navigation.

I also want to be clear about something else. I don’t do political posts. I avoid them on purpose. If someone wants to label this as political, then congratulations—this will officially be my first and last one.

Here’s where I stand, plain and simple. If you’re a man and want to be a woman, so be it. If you’re a woman and want to be a man, so be it. If you identify as non-binary, or something else entirely, that’s your life and your choice. It’s not my job to run it, and it’s not my place to stop you.

But I also don’t believe it’s reasonable to expect strangers to instantly know what’s in your head.

Somewhere along the line, something that used to be automatic—sir, ma’am, he, she—has become a minefield. And the expectation, at least in that moment, was that I should somehow know the correct answer before the question was ever asked.

That’s the part that stuck with me.

We live in a time when communication is supposedly easier than ever. We’ve got phones, apps, and watches that tell us to stand up and breathe. And yet, basic human interaction feels more complicated than ever. Instead of conversation, correction. Instead of grace, assumption.

Here’s the honest truth: I’m going to get things wrong sometimes. Not out of hate. Not out of stubbornness. Not out of disrespect. But because I’m human, I’m older than Google, and I grew up in a world where appearances usually matched labels.

And maybe the better answer—for all of us—is a little more patience.

If I misidentify you, tell me. I’ll listen. I’ll adjust. I’m not above learning. But I don’t believe shame, scolding, or public correction at a fast-food window is how understanding is built. Respect shouldn’t be a weapon; it should be a bridge.

Life’s already heavy enough. We’re all carrying something. A bad day. A loss. A diagnosis. A bill we don’t know how to pay. The last thing we need is to turn a cheeseburger exchange into a courtroom drama.

So this isn’t a rant. And it’s not a political crusade. It’s one simple request from one imperfect human to another:

If I get it wrong, tell me. Don’t try to teach a lesson. Don’t draw a line in the sand. Just tell me.

Because I’m not your enemy. I’m just a guy in a drive-through trying to buy lunch.

And if we’ve reached a point in life where a stranger deserves a public scolding instead of a quiet correction, then maybe the real thing we’ve lost isn’t proper labels.

Maybe it’s grace.