My partial passability can be confusing

Yesterday, I found myself in Richmond Hill, a sprawling suburb to the north of the city. The best coffee going was Starbucks, and so I was in Starbucks, getting a coffee.

I suspected that the woman behind the counter clocked me as trans when she took my order. When she turned to make my coffee, her colleague dragged himself from his perch on a stool, and started manning the cash.

When he had finished processing my payment, she tried to tell him about the slice of cake I had ordered.

"He has a pastry too," she said, somewhat awkwardly (me being not much of a he), over the sound of the machines. It's too bad that people don't naturally guess that using target-gender pronouns works better (i.e. it's easier and more respectful to call me "she").

So far as he could tell, there were no men in the place. He stared at her like she had gone completely crazy, and said "what?"

She looked at him, wondering when he had lost his ability to turn and pass me a pastry.

He smiled encouragingly, clearly wanting to help.

I looked at her sternly, trying to do my best Ben Kenobi. "Just hand me the pastry," I said, leaning forward. She and he were equidistant from the pastry case. It wasn't an implausible solution, but she hesitated. "Just hand me the pastry," I said again.

So she handed me the pastry, and the boy turned to take the order of the woman behind me in line, and the cognitive dissonance clouding the air disappeared.

When I caught up with her at the little orange circle of counter Starbucks likes to perch completed beverage orders on, I explained myself. "I don't think your colleague had noticed I'm trans. That's why I interceded there."

She looked at me confusedly (they don't get a lot of trannies using words like 'intercede' in conversation in Richmond Hill), so I repeated myself. "I don't think he noticed I'm trans. That was why that was confusing."

"Oh, sorry!"

"It's ok. It's confusing. I'm used to it. It's easier if you just call me 'she.'"

She didn't respond, and that felt like the appropriate response to me. Having discussed my gender status, we had already gone deeper than our customer-barista relationship really ought to.

She slid the coffee onto the orange surface, and we both said "thanks," as Canadians often do at the end of service interactions. I picked up my coffee and headed for the door.