Good For Me

I am a man.  What that means is, that at least once in my life, I have to buy condoms.  It's just something that goes with the territory.  Women don't have to buy condoms, because they're women.  They don't even need to make any effort, beyond breathing.  They just need to be there (and, of course, in the mood, but that's a subject for another day).

Since the dawn of man, young males have been forced to endure the torture that is:  acquiring condoms without being embarrassed to the point of heart failure.  The usual drill:  standing in front of the condom rack at the pharmacy for several decades, browsing the seemingly endless array of condoms, wondering which is "the one".   Ribbed?  Lubricated?  Reservoir Tip?  Large?  Extra-thin?  Trojans?  Durex?  Lifestyles?  Flavored?  Good lord, what if it's too big?  Too small?  Too thin?  Too thick?  Too ribbed?  Not ribbed enough?  A man just wants to protect himself (from diseases, communism, and, of course, babies), and - ohmygod - what if your choice is WRONG?

Finally, you(and when I say "you", I mean "I") just grab whatever has the coolest looking package and bolt for the checkout counter, only to be stopped cold at the stunning revelation that...

THE CASHIER IS A GIRL.

Oh-my-god-now-what?  I don't want her to think I'm a huge pervert!  What-am-I-gonna-do?  And then...inspiration!  I'll buy a boatload of NON-perverted items, and hide the condoms in the pile, so they go "unnoticed".

Casually, you stroll about the store, cleverly collecting your camouflage items, and coolly return to the checkout counter with: gum, a toothbrush, "Hot Rod" magazine, a birthday card (for your brother, whose birthday is in 11 months), a ball point pen, toilet bowl cleaner, a green feather duster, a 256-ounce bottle of shampoo, and YOUR FILTHY, DISGUSTING, PERVERTED CONDOMS.

Now, the sweating starts.  You casually drop your items onto the counter.  Your eyes dart to and fro, from the cashier, to the security camera, to the man behind you with severe nasal congestion, back to the cashier, to the gossip rag rack (wow, Kirstie Alley really is huge!), back to the cashier, again to the security camera, and then down to your items - where the condom box seems to levitate above all the other items.  She starts scanning.  Beep!   Beep!   Beep!  Beep!  Beep! OHMYGODHERECOMETHECONDOMS Beep!  Beep!  Beep!

"That comes to $26.50."

You throw several twenty dollar bills in the general direction of the cashier, who scoops them up, gives you your change, and sends ya packing with your big bag of important, yet dirty, items.  Wow.  You made it out, and she didn't say a thing! 

As you get older, you realize that there's some unwritten rule that prevents cashiers from commenting on whatever disgusting and/or embarrassing items you might have.  Realistically, it may be just as embarrassing to them as it is to you,  Plus, the store manager has threatened them with a gun.  I'm sure of it.

At this point, the story should be over - but, tragically, it's not.

A few months ago, I was in the position where, again, I needed to purchase condoms.  At this point, it's become old hat, and I'm perfectly comfortable with it, knowing that cashiers are bound by unwritten law (and large caliber handguns) to refrain from commenting.  I go to the store, collect my goods, including the aforementioned condoms (Trojan Super-Duper-Extra-Large-Titanium-Reinforced-Ribbed-With-Dump-Truck-Sized-Reservoir), and go to check out.

Beep!  Beep!  Beep!  Beep!...and then the condoms, at which point the female cashier blurts out...

"Oh, good for you!  You just never know!"

My face goes ashen.

"You know, I've only been with one man in my life!  It didn't work out, but he was very nice, and we're still friends, and..."

The rest of her words fade away, as my world tilts and spins.  I feel my face reddening, and barely hear myself mumble "that's nice" as she hands me my change.  I walk from the store, sullenly pushing my shopping cart full of disgusting perversion, and wondering how I got blindsided.

I swear to God, I've not made this up.