If I was drunk, horny, and wanted a fast hookup, I would completely lie; the job questions usually ended after I proclaimed myself a software developer, accountant, or veterinarian. Early on at The Big Fancy, I also received my share of skepticism from women customers:

Customer: “How are you going to help me? What do you know about bags?”

Freeman: “That’s what I’ve been hired to do.”

Customer: “But men never work in this section.”

Freeman: “One does now. And men have been selling shoes to women forever. No difference really.” (This was always my big line for customers questioning my gender-based abilities.)

Customer: “I suppose you’re right.” (Of course I am. The customer is never right.)

Thankfully, society has moved past the shock of men selling handbags, just as they have with women being allowed to tackle and Taser some asshole on the run. Thousands of my brethren are out there right now helping women find trendy totes big enough to hold their Chihuahuas in.

Handbags have become status symbols and fashion statements, and because of the truckload of techie gizmos we carry around on a daily basis, guys are also dragging them around. Those are called manbags. But when I moved to Los Angeles, way back when, men weren’t selling handbags. I didn’t own a handbag -- I mean manbag -- and the word was no more a part of my vocabulary than the word menopause. I thought I was going to be selling screenplays. Not handbags.

Tags: Books