Another Bullshit Night in Suck City, Part 1
I try not to judge people based on their purchases.
OK. That's complete bullshit. I totally judge people based on the ridiculous things they buy. But I do try not to let them know I'm judging them based on their purchases. That's worth something, right?
So when the tall, cleancut, not ugly, 30-something guy came up to my register with Anne Hooper's Sex Pack, I didn't think that it was lame or goofy or skeevy in any way. In fact, my thoughts ran more along the lines of "hey, here's a guy who's making an effort to make somebody's sex life a little more interesting even if it is a bit lightweight and vanilla." For a fleeting moment I wondered if I should offer to giftwrap the "Sex Pack" for him. It's the kind of thing a certain type of boyfriend might give a certain type of girlfriend. (Yes, I'm assuming heterosexuality because the "Sex Pack" is, as I say, kind of vanilla, and most self-respecting homos would find it a bit laughable - or at least those of my acquaintance would.)
In the end, I decided not to offer the giftwrap, but to bag the item as quickly as possible, because it is my experience that customers purchasing anything to do with sex - erotica books, nudie mags, and how-to guides - just want to get the hell out of there without making eye contact with me. Oh, and they always pay cash. Just in case, you know, Big Bookstore keeps track of who's naughty and who's nice. Because we really give a shit. So without ever having exchanged a word with me during the entire transaction, Mr. Sex Pack took his merchandise and left the store.
An hour later, the Holler approaches me and says: "You are not going to believe this. I can't even tell you what it is, I just have to show you. " He leads me over to the Big Bookstore public bathrooms, all the while saying things like, "I thought the chicken dinner in front of the toilet was bad, but this is worse," and "you are going to totally freak out."
The entrances to the bathrooms are set in an alcove. On the alcove wall, facing the bathroom doors, are cubby holes where we put all the local freebie periodicals. The logic here is manifold: we don't want the freebies cluttering up the front of the store, we don't want them using up valuable space for product that we can actually sell, and maybe, just maybe, people will take the freebies into the crapper with them rather than magazines from the news stand. Keith points to the cubbyholes and says, "Look."
And there it is. Perched on the edge of the cubbyhole, at a slight angle, as if casually set down by someone while perusing The City Paper. "It" is a "personal massage" device. A six-inch long, pink, plastic vibrator. The Holler is correct. All I can say is, "OH. MY. GOD." as I stand there and gawp at this thing.
To be continued...
OK. That's complete bullshit. I totally judge people based on the ridiculous things they buy. But I do try not to let them know I'm judging them based on their purchases. That's worth something, right?
So when the tall, cleancut, not ugly, 30-something guy came up to my register with Anne Hooper's Sex Pack, I didn't think that it was lame or goofy or skeevy in any way. In fact, my thoughts ran more along the lines of "hey, here's a guy who's making an effort to make somebody's sex life a little more interesting even if it is a bit lightweight and vanilla." For a fleeting moment I wondered if I should offer to giftwrap the "Sex Pack" for him. It's the kind of thing a certain type of boyfriend might give a certain type of girlfriend. (Yes, I'm assuming heterosexuality because the "Sex Pack" is, as I say, kind of vanilla, and most self-respecting homos would find it a bit laughable - or at least those of my acquaintance would.)
In the end, I decided not to offer the giftwrap, but to bag the item as quickly as possible, because it is my experience that customers purchasing anything to do with sex - erotica books, nudie mags, and how-to guides - just want to get the hell out of there without making eye contact with me. Oh, and they always pay cash. Just in case, you know, Big Bookstore keeps track of who's naughty and who's nice. Because we really give a shit. So without ever having exchanged a word with me during the entire transaction, Mr. Sex Pack took his merchandise and left the store.
An hour later, the Holler approaches me and says: "You are not going to believe this. I can't even tell you what it is, I just have to show you. " He leads me over to the Big Bookstore public bathrooms, all the while saying things like, "I thought the chicken dinner in front of the toilet was bad, but this is worse," and "you are going to totally freak out."
The entrances to the bathrooms are set in an alcove. On the alcove wall, facing the bathroom doors, are cubby holes where we put all the local freebie periodicals. The logic here is manifold: we don't want the freebies cluttering up the front of the store, we don't want them using up valuable space for product that we can actually sell, and maybe, just maybe, people will take the freebies into the crapper with them rather than magazines from the news stand. Keith points to the cubbyholes and says, "Look."
And there it is. Perched on the edge of the cubbyhole, at a slight angle, as if casually set down by someone while perusing The City Paper. "It" is a "personal massage" device. A six-inch long, pink, plastic vibrator. The Holler is correct. All I can say is, "OH. MY. GOD." as I stand there and gawp at this thing.
To be continued...
posted by ereshkigal at 1:05 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home