I love going to industry parties. Or rather, I love forgetting what it means to be me, going to one of these parties. As someone who used to work in film & TV, I love being that asshole who turned her back on the bright lights of Hollywood to follow a different dream.
There I was, standing dutifully at the front counter of an adult store. Porn. Lube. Pictures of ass cheeks dotting the horizon. When in strolls a young mother pushing a stroller. In it sitting a bright-eyed toddler.
I act swiftly.
One of my favorite things to do is run into people I know in the middle of their sex toy shopping experience. It fills me with joy. The shame. The confusion. The embarrassment. I love the, “Great to see you, Sandra! Umm, wow, you work here? heh, yeah, no no, just looking.”
Adults in an adult store environment are like circling eagles. They don’t go straight for what they are interested in. They circle and circle. And if I approach at the wrong moment, they circle for fifteen minutes more than they would have because I was a gust of wind blowing them off course.