digitaldiscipline ◾ ◾ The perils of having a goddamned adult-sized clue.

People expect me to know fucking everything.

"Hey," a coworker says, "do you know anywhere that buys old car batteries?"
"Why would anyone want to buy a used car battery?" I think this is a reasonable question.
"To make money....?"
I can tell he's less certain of his query. I move in. "How would anybody make money from buying an old car battery?"
"Ummm... I have one I want to sell, and, you know, need to find someone who would buy it."
"Try CraigsList."

Seriously, the amount of clueless WTF I find myself dog-paddling through on a fairly regular basis is mildly astonishing. I can only assume that I project an aura of such authority, of Knowing Shit What Men Ought, that people just look to me for answers. This is, generally, fine -- I have no problems being right, or at least intuitively good at being pretty close to it, or having a strong hunch as to where the answer might be (this same phenomenon exists outside the office; the fact that I'm not wandering around department stores and airports in a wall-eyed, shell-shocked daze gets me asked for directions a lot, even when it's fairly obvious I don't work there.

draxzaster can probably back me up when I say that a Utilikilt is not standard-issue attire for TPA or airline employees.

Yeah, I resent the Clueless Imposition. But I sure as fuck have come to expect it.