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.
An older man of forty-six sporting workout gear and a bald spot boldly walks into our store. No, this is not the beginning of a joke.
At ten paces right in front of me he stops, then spends a good sixty seconds trying to turn off his iPod. He is a vision of mid-life crisis.
He tells me he has never been inside our den of sex. I welcome him sweetly. He peruses for a time before coming up to the counter, setting down a 3-pack of moderately acceptable condoms and a small bottle of lube. This is our conversation:
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.