Condoms Under Glass
There is a list of items that, although not taboo, men have a tough time buying. In no particular order, they are:
> tampons
> potpourri
> laxatives
> condoms
> enya CDs
> Thelma & Louise (DVD or VHS)
There is, of course, more to the list.
Now, I must stress here that, although I may have just now compiled the list, that does not in any way mean that I have purchased all or any of the above. Well, except for condoms. Because the rest of this entry has completely to do with condoms, I have to admit that I purchase these items.
I've purchased condoms from an assortment of establishments; from mom and pop drug stores, to Walgreens, to Target chain stores, to condom dispensing machines in the bathrooms of bars. I've even had to purchase them from buddies for the astronomical price of $3 a piece, just because I didn't have any on hand. Some buddies. jerks.
Anyway. . .
My biggest beef (no pun intended) with condom-dealing outlets rests with the establishments that feel they must keep the sperm barriers behind locked glass, as if they're some valuable commodity, like gold or diamond watches.
I once bought condoms from a Rainbow Foods grocery stores. I'm not kidding when I tell you that the only items under lock and key were the condoms. The store safe could have been sitting out in the open with a fresh layer of C4 explosive wrapped around it, but the condoms had to be locked behind glass.
ARMED DUDE: Now listen up!! Everyone get on the floor, hands behind the heads. I want everything in the safe! Now!
MANAGER: Yes sir, yes sir. Whatever you say. Would you like small or large bills?
ARMED DUDE: What are you trying to pull here, fucker? On second thought, I want the good stuff! Get me the Trojans and Lifestyles behind that locked glass over there!!
MANAGER: NEVER!!
*scuffle ensues*
Well, locked glass or no, I had pressing concerns that night, and Rainbow was the only place open, so I set about finding someone with a key to open the golden gate to Trogan-valia. I found a rotund (and by "rotund" I mean unable to squeeze between aisles) woman, perhaps 63-years old, who probably last saw Dick during the Nixon administration.
CONDOM NAZI: What do you want condoms for?
ME: Um, well, hell. I guess I need them to do the dishes. What business is it of yours?
CONDOM NAZI: You know they're not 100 percent effective, right?
ME (getting annoyed): No shit. Well then, maybe I better not buy them.
CONDOM NAZI: Let me know if you need anything else.
ME: Get back here!! Open the damned glass! I want a 36-pack of Lifestyles! (actually I only needed a three pack, but she was really pissing me off, so I wanted her to think I was going to get laid so much that night, I'd be in a coma until the next election.)
CONDOM NAZI: Okay, fine. But don't come crying to me if she gets pregnant.
She handed me the condoms, and I just sort of stood there in numb silence, unable to even conjure a suitable comeback to the most comeback-inviting bitch ever to spew forth a retort. How did this woman ever get a job wielding the keys to the condoms? How many other men had she shamed into celibacy? How many men strangled themselves with a complicated noose consisting of a 36-pack of Lifestyles?
I didn't want to know.
Posted by Ryan at September 23, 2002 11:41 PM
Stumble It!
