Miserable Retail Slave
The Cure For The Case of Common Boredom
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Sex Toys!
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by Bets Wad
I am not a friendly person. I don't much care for people. Put me into a situation where I have to interact pleasantly with the general populace and I end up cringing on the inside when I'm forced to exchange pleasantries. But, I do what I have to do. I can get along with most folks, I can deal with the bored chatter of clerks, and I can grimace in pain but pass it off as a smile when someone overly helpful crosses my path.
But there's one place where I wish that sales people would get a clue and leave me the hell alone. And that place is the sex toy store.
I understand that the folks aiming for the business of the somewhat normal and not-too-skeevy are trying to pretty up the industry. There's no shame any more in wandering into their retail establishment and purchasing that 12 inch-long black rubber dong (complete with nards). This is evidenced by all the romantic crap and pink decor and marketing aimed towards happy couples. Sex toy stores are happy, feel-good, NICE places to frequent. Except when they're too nice.
Now, I'm not talking about the vomitous decor, or the well-lit displays, or hiding the more "risque" items in the back room. I'm talking about the insane attack clerks these stores are hiring. Seriously.
The last time I wandered into a business like that, I was lucky to escape with my life. As soon as I walked in the door I was mobbed by hyper, too-knowledgable, pitbulls disguised as average females. I managed to lose them by the teddies for about two minutes but as soon as I poked my head around the leather display they were on me again.
And hey, some folks might like this sort of thing. The inept, the clueless, the hopeless... I can see how agressive sales staff might be handy. But when I go into that sort of store I want to skulk around. Lurk in the shadows. Have a bit of peace while I'm comparing the Uber-Vibratey Toy of Joy to the Spinny-Wiggly Bliss Stick. I just can't shop well while exercising evasive maneuvers.
It all makes me long for the good old days when sex was dirty and shameful and if you wanted to get yourself a set of nipple clamps you had to don a trench coat, fedora, and shades. And when the sales people probably left you the hell alone.
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