(Confronted by a customer with an extremely high pitched voice and impenetrable Highland accent. This is one of those tiny old Scottish women with a headscarf nailed on and muscles like steel wires. They are a common sight in the East of Scotland, and are almost immortal. Only the slow action of the wind off the north sea will gradually erode them.)
Me: “That will be £***, please.”
Old Lady: “Areyenamerican?”
Me: “I beg your pardon?”
Old Lady: “Ah sid, are ye Namerican?”
Me: “I’m sorry, I missed that.”
Old Lady: “Are… ye… an… American?”
Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. I misheard you. No, I’m English.”
Old Lady: “Oh… why?”
(I have spent much of the last three years trying to come up with a satisfactory answer. As yet I have made no progress.)