My family has an interesting relationship with drive-through coffee places.

Two times now, they have vastly changed the emotional landscape of that day. Or, rather, a single word said during the ever-important coffee acquisition has done so.

Both those words have been gender-specific, and they tore one of my family members apart while building up the other.

But before we get into that, let me backtrack a little.

As far as social acceptance goes, it’s been fairly smooth waters for my wife, Zoe. She came out to me in July of last year, came out to our friends and family over the fall, and by late winter was out at work and to the rest of the world.

Everyone has been accepting of this change, from her parents to her co-workers. Our kids call her “Mama” now, without missing a beat. I’ve fallen madly in love with her in a way I never was with my “husband.” That’s because she’s way happier now, and that happiness is intoxicating.

Also: boobs. Boobs are great.

Femininity fits her like a glove, to the point where I don’t know how I couldn’t see what was staring me in the face for such a long time. My spouse was meant to be a woman. And now that she’s admitted this to herself and everyone else, it just all works so well.

But even though she rocks at this girl stuff to the point where I’ve self-consciously upped my own game a little to avoid feeling frumpy, there are a few things testosterone has done to her over the years that she really struggles with. One of those things is her voice.

Like many trans women, Zoe is very conscious of her voice. Does it sound like a cisgender (non-trans) woman’s voice? Is it high enough? Soft enough? Does it have that gentle lilt, or whatever women have that differentiates us from the gruffness of a typical male voice?

Zoe has been fortunate enough to get vocal training to help bring her voice to a place where she’s mostly happy with it. Mind you, when gender dysphoria hits – that deep feeling of discomfort faced by many trans people – her voice is often the first thing she focuses on. It’s not right. It’s too deep. She sounds like a guy. It’s a nasty spiral.

However, she was feeling particularly good one day in early spring as we drove through the drive-through to get coffees. Newly out at work. Life felt amazing and free. And she was looking stunning, I might add.

“Welcome to Coffee Place Amanda Isn’t Naming on Her Blog. Can I take your order?” the outdoor speaker asked.

“Hi,” said Zoe. “Can I get a medium with one cream and a small decaf black?”

“Sure,” said the voice behind the speaker. “Drive up to the window and someone will see you there. Have a nice day, sir.”

Sir.

My heart broke as I saw Zoe’s face fall.

“Sir?” she said to me as we drove up to the window. “He called me sir.”

“Zoe…” I started.

“Does my voice sound that bad?”

“No! You sound good. Really.”

And just like that, our day fell apart.

She: I sound like a guy. I’m just fooling myself. No one is ever going to see me as the woman I really am. Why do I even try?

Me: You don’t sound like a guy. It’s hard for them to hear properly on those things, that’s all. You’re a beautiful woman, honey. Please don’t cry. Oh, please don’t. Come here.

The light that had been in her eyes all day dimmed. Her confidence eroded. It took days to fully return.

If you think this is overreacting, then you’re probably not trans or don’t have a trans person in your life with whom you share all the feelings. Because this type of thing, this misgendering, can be devastating to many trans folk.

I can only equate it to when I was heavier than I am now and very self-conscious about it, and someone would assume I was pregnant. It happened three times – including once when someone actually ran up and touched my belly – and each time left me in tears later on.

There’s nothing wrong with being pregnant. But I wasn’t, and being seen that way was a reminder that I wasn’t being seen for who I really am, which is not an expecting woman.

And there’s nothing wrong with being a man. But when you’re a woman who is finally trying to project her true self out to the world and you get called “sir,” I can only guess it’s like being called pregnant times one thousand. Your entire identity is being thrown into question. How awful that must feel.

But it’s going to happen. Someone will undoubtedly say. Sorry, but you can’t expect everyone to know everyone’s gender!

You’re right, Someone Who Will Undoubtedly Say This. We can’t know everyone’s gender or preferred pronouns. That’s impossible.

But here’s the truth: It doesn’t have to happen, because we don’t have to use gender salutations when dealing with people . We just don’t.

We can be polite without using “Sir,” “ma’am” or “miss,” particularly in situations when it’s impossible to know someone’s gender, like at a drive-through. Just hearing someone’s voice is not enough to know what gender they are. Even cis people can have higher or lower voices than what is typical for their gender.

I know trans people who’ve been misgendered by waiting staff, in clothing stores, and even in government service offices. I know a trans woman who was misgendered by police when she needed help, and several who’ve encountered problems when seeking medical attention.

Sometimes it’s an accident. Sometimes it’s deliberate, which, don’t kid yourself, is a form of hate. No matter why it happens, though, it hurts. And as I held Zoe on that day – and on a few other days with similar misgendering moments – I promised myself I would talk about this issue and try and make it better.

Because while I can’t stop all the bigots, I can help the rest of us who want to do better, do better.

In contrast, Alexis was pleasantly validated at another coffee location a few months into her transition. We picked up drinks at the window and the barista said, “Have a nice day, ladies!”

My daughter’s face lit up. It was the first time in her 12 years of life that someone she didn’t know saw her for the girl she really is. I, of course, was moved to tears by her joy.

Basically, I just cry at drive-through windows, I’ve realized.

But for every positive story, there are bad ones. And I always think about the trans people who don’t have someone they love to hold their hand through that triggering dysphoria, and how lonely that must be.

Our words are powerful. They have consequences. And that’s why we need to think about and talk about this issue more often.

If you don’t know someone’s gender, don’t assume it.

If corporate policy dictates service staff use gendered salutations, it’s time to change that.

This is fixable. We can do this.

And with astronomically high suicide rates in the trans community compared to the rest of society, we have a responsibility to get this right.

Zoe is months deeper into her transition now. Her voice is closer to where she wants it and her boobs are fanta—she’s transitioning nicely. But ever since this one incident, I’ve made a point of being the one to order at all the drive-throughs (and I drink a lot of coffee, so we’re no strangers to them.) It’s getting ridiculous.

I’m so protective of her, and I probably don’t need to be. But when you love someone as much as I do and you see them try so hard only to hurt so badly, it’s hard to let go.

I need to let go.

So I’m going to write this post, write about this more thoroughly in my upcoming book, and do my best to keep my mouth shut the next time we stop for coffee.

(But please, world. Be kind, okay?)