Appearances can be deceiving. Take, for instance, Mike Tyson—ear-biting rapist who boxes. He’s a menacing, grimacing, muscle-bound meat-head you don’t ever want to meet in a dark alley alone. Yet when he opens his mouth, you’d swear it was Dr. Evil’s Mini-Me talking. With a voice like that it’s no wonder he went into boxing; he had to defend himself against those who assumed he was as mousy as his voice.

Key lesson? Never assume.

I used to work as an office coordinator, and one of my phone contacts was a person named Pat, who was deep voiced, friendly, and super nice. I assumed Pat was male because the voice that went with the name was very (and I mean very) masculine. That was my first mistake.

One day, I called Pat’s office while Pat was out.

“Yes, may I speak with Pat please?” I asked politely. “I’m returning his call.”

“Uh…” The man who answered the phone sounded suspiciously amused. “She’s not here right now. Hold on a second, and let me go find her.”

“Oh!” I gasped, embarrassed. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought Pat was short for Patrick. She has a very deep voice.”

“Yes, I know.” His amusement became more evident. “Everyone makes the same mistake.”

So there I was, picturing poor little Pat with the masculine voice, the topic of gossip at her office because she sounded so butch. This was, of course, yet another assumption, and that was my second mistake.

A day or two later, Pat wanted to drop by and pick up some paperwork. When she finally arrived, she wasn’t at all what I was expecting.

First of all, Pat was wearing make-up, nail polish, and women’s jewelry—very feminine in style, walk, and expression of face. Pat was also about 6’5″ or 6’6″, lean with massive bones, large hands, large feet, a leathery tan, and a very distinctive Adam’s apple that bobbed every now and then as she talked.

Somehow I maintained a cool exterior, a polite and charming smile on my face, as though nothing whatsoever was out of the ordinary. I was friendly to Pat in person as I was on the phone, and this seemed to bring out Pat’s own friendliness; she sat herself down on my desk, nice and close, and crossed her long legs as she leaned in and engaged me with small talk.

I remember her towering over me, and I remember thinking that she was bigger than any man I had ever seen. I remember staring at her nail-polished fingernails, each of which rested on a giant, bony-but-sturdy finger, thicker than two of mine combined.

And I couldn’t stop staring at the Adam’s apple.

Apparently, neither could any of my co-workers. They milled around, eyes in that perpetual “Oh! How nice to meet you!” expression. You know the expression I mean—the one of mild surprise. And slightly dropped jaws accompanied those eyes with a hint of smiling amusement.

There were so many questions I wanted to ask. Who, What, When, Where, Why, and How, to name a few. Are you a friend of Dorothy? was another. Are you a man behind that see-through curtain you call woman? So many questions. I was dying of curiousity.

But I didn’t pry. To pry would be to assume that anything was out of the ordinary, and I was done with assuming. Never again would I make that mistake with Pat.

After she left, we allowed ourselves to exchange exclamations, stunned laughter, and incredulous looks; but when she suddenly came back for some forgotten something, we composed ourselves once again and greeted her with friendly smiles. I think she expected to find us in shock or hysterics, our game faces down during her brief absence.

But you see? She assumed that she could catch us off-guard and find intolerance, outrage, or embarrassment behind our friendly faces, and that was her mistake. We smiled at her with genuine warmth and goodwill and wished her a safe drive. Never mind that we all looked about to explode.

Again, the key lesson here? Never assume.

As I recall, none of us exploded.

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