We had a wooden ramp on the Belle of Louisville about six feet long so people could get on the stage without tripping. We used to stand by it to help ladies (high needle heels were in fashion) up the thing. One night we had a very black trip and a she-male, or maybe it was a male-she, was along. It was wearing a lovely lavender tuxedo trimmed with thousands of silver sequins. She reeked of dime-store perfume. When it came time to leave the boat he lingered and lingered, and Tommy, Chico, Red and Jay C. were loafing around and commenting about her clothing, scent, etc. I was helping the ladies and carefully ignoring he/it/her, when she said in a petulent tone, "Well! Aren't you going to help me!?" I grabbed his elbow and steered him up the ramp while Tommy, Chico, Red and Jay C. howled with glee.
The wild thing about this incident was the deck crew, who mixed genders as they talked about she/he/it, just as I have done here.