I have no idea why I feel like telling this story, but I just do. It's potentially embarrassing... but I typically run around telling people my embarrassing stories so it's nothing new.
So, it should be known that I'm a good girl. Really. My writing might not be the best evidence of that, but it's the truth. Plenty of friends would be a bit shocked to know about this secret part of me. Perhaps that's why I keep it secret; there's a little thrill there, no?
In the day-to-day, however, I'm quite conservative.
That's why it was such a shock when I applied to work at a sex shop.
I was looking for a job. Nannying was great and I loved the kids very much, but I'd grown weary of long days and the terrible twos (which I refuse to believe is a myth). I still wasn't ready to go back for my Master's, so I needed to find a steady(ish) job for a bit.
I went on a whole slew of stiff office interviews, checked Craigslist now and then and wondered if I should just stick with what I was doing. I considered working at a nearby boutique, but I'd had jobs like that before and I hated them. It wasn't my thing. Then I noticed the sex shop I passed on my way home every day was hiring. An amusing thought flitted into my head--what if I applied there?
As weird ideas often come to my mind, I didn't give it much thought. I laughed and went home.
The next day I went to work and found myself elbow-deep in shit. It wasn't the first time, and I wasn't overly upset about it, but it wasn't an ideal way to spend my time. Later I passed the store, of course, and thought about applying again.
Then I laughed at myself. Me? Work at a sex shop? Please.
But then I thought it would be absolutely brilliant. I imagined the different people coming in, the amusement I'd get from some of the odder clientele and the inspiration I might have for future stories. I printed out my resume and headed there the next evening.
It was by far the weirdest interview I've ever been on. I dressed as I'd typically dress for an interview--nice skirt, nice blouse, heels. I got there early and waited for the manager for forever. It smelled like plastic and cheap fabric (of the dresses hanging up), and maybe even a little pot.
I memorized the different products in the front and looked at a few of the outfits with a twisted longing. I particularly wanted a pair of cheap, sparkly heels; I loved them because of their gaudiness.
Then the manager came out. She was a bit taller than me with messy blonde hair. She was messy in general, actually. I got a vibe off of her (ha, a vibe) and disliked her almost instantly. She brought me into the back where most of the toys were. I smirked when I spotted the 50 Shades section.
What followed was not only the weirdest, as I mentioned before, but the most thorough interview ever. It was sort of a quiet disaster. She launched into sex talk immediately. I had to stifle my initial response--an embarrassed shock, I think--as she casually referred to clits, masturbation, dildos and cocks. I'm no prude but I'd never had someone--a stranger-- talk like that five seconds after meeting them. Looking back on it, what did I expect?
A cute guy came into the back a bit later. She rushed over to help him with his perusal of cock rings. Then an old man appeared, saying he didn't like the movie selection. He was obviously a regular. She suggested a few titles.
"You'll totally cum over these."
He wasn't buying it, or them. She offered a significant discount but he walked out empty-handed. She came back to me, buzzing with annoyance.
Then she became very interested in my sex life, especially probing into any toys I might own. She grilled me on it, in fact. What did I have, when did I buy it, what edition was it. I think I embellished a little. She emphasized that employees had to frequently buy toys so that they could accurately describe them to customers. I began envisioning walking in on a Monday morning and cringing when she checked on my latest experience with the new vibrator.
Call me naive, but I never realized how complicated it all was. All those toys...those videos...those penis pumps. It was clear I was over my head, and that this job would be hard. I was already preparing myself for rejection.
It was apparent she was underwhelmed by my experience. I could tell she thought I was out of my league and maybe even a bit... innocent? I kinda felt shitty over it, to be honest.
It was then that I wanted to bring up Literotica.
"Guess what I do in my free time? I write adult stories. They're very, very dirty. Ever hear of...Literotica?"
But the girl made me nervous, and that was a totally ridiculous fantasy.
She was intense as she stared at me, asking wild questions and combating me every time I made a statement she didn't agree with. I have to say, looking back, that she takes her job very seriously and is probably a great manager. Working for her is probably a bitch, though.
I expressed a frightened interest in electric shock toys and she showed me these pulsating gloves (on sale). She dragged me over to the other side of the store and showed me something else, too, using her best speeches.
It was then I realized she was trying to sell to me. I was partly amused, partly annoyed. I'd been in the store for a good amount of time by then and I knew I wasn't going to get hired. I also had no desire to buy this shit.
"I'm not buying this," I said bluntly after a minute. Then, because I'd been brusque and I'm a pussy, I added, "Not today, but I'll be back for it, okay?" She nodded, her enthusiasm fading.
Another customer ambled into the back and she walked away, not even bothering to apologize this time. While I waited for her--it seemed rude just leaving--another employee came up to me and started chatting. She was an older woman who talked to me right away about this young guy she'd been fucking and that he always played video games and stole her money, and while I wasn't bothered by her story, I kinda thought she was a little crazy. Wanting to change the conversation, and feeling distinctly uncomfortable, I pointed to an artificial vagina mold in the likeness of Sasha Grey's pussy.
"Sasha Grey!" I exclaimed, probably too loud. "I love her. She's so filthy."
Now who was crazy?
The manager came over at that point and I went on and on about how cool it was they had a replica of Sasha Grey's pussy. I was nervous, and when I'm nervous I babble. Plus I felt this weird challenge to prove to her I wasn't an inexperienced moron. Getting the job had become significantly less important. It was obvious I had no place there, that I would probably be terrible at it. I shivered thinking about having to confess to some guy that a particular vibrator made me see stars.
She wasn't impressed, anyway.
Our interview ended a few minutes later, thank God, and I walked out into the cool air with absolute certainty I wouldn't get a call...but not really minding, either. It was a funny story, at least to me and to my friends (I even told my mother, who thought I was ridiculous but who was used to my ways). And it gave me a newfound appreciation for people who work in adult stores, that's for sure.
While it was super funny to me, I also felt a bit depleted. That girl really made me squirm, let me tell you. I went out and got drunk at a wine bar, and woke up bright and early (and hungover) for work. Getting covered in shit didn't feel so bad that day.