the INQUEERY

I am on my break at The Pleasure Chest right now and spending it at my desk in the basement. “Having lunch in the basement of a sex toy store.” Who would have ever thought I’d end up being able to say the things that I do on any given day? Ask anyone how their day went and it’s all the same; “I went to work,” “This lady on the subway was a bitch,” “I saw my friend who I haven’t seen in forever.” Ask me what I did today and it’s basically the same thing, except dildos and vibrators are thrown in. It all makes my life seem more glamorous to strangers, but really it’s just like any other lifestyle. I shower in the morning, I take lunch breaks in the basement mid day, I go home and write and watch 30 Rock on Hulu.

My mom called me a bit ago and asked me what I was doing. “I’m having lunch in the basement at work.” My mom and I are a lot closer than my dad and I are. And that’s not to say that my dad and I aren’t close — we are. But my mom and I are just trouble.

“How can you be comfortable eating with all that stuff around you?” she asks me.

“Oh it doesn’t bother me, mommy. Sometimes it makes me more hungry!”

She laughs and we continue talking. I pace when I talk on the phone and I don’t know why, and here in the basement I pace as I speak to my mom. She is telling me about her new kitten and my head is inches away from a Vixen 7″ dong. She tells me how she jokingly sexually harasses her therapist and I am shuffling boxes of condoms around on a shelf. She tells me that her radio host friend, Kathy, gave me a shout out the other day. “That’s nice” I tell her, the whole time flipping through the latest porn catalog that has been sent to us.

I was at a bar the other night and someone asked what I do, so I told him. “That must be exciting!” he replied. I didn’t deny it, because I love what I do, but I could tell that what he considered exciting in this situation wasn’t what I considered exciting. For instance, I can say “douche” to a customer here without laughing and without getting fired and I think that’s exciting, whereas I am not spending my day whipping subs in some seedy back room bordello of sin.

But on my break I am just another person on a lunch break talking to his mom. “Send me some freebies to give to my therapist” she tells me.

“Oh mommy,” I say, “you have single handedly redefined the term ‘cougar’.”

Time to clock back in.

I have a sixth sense for when customers are doing three things: Stealing, about to take a picture, and opening merchandise. I can sense it coming and stare at the customer and usually watch it start to happen and intervene. I don’t mind confronting a thief, and most people are very apologetic when informed that we don’t allow photography in the store, but people opening merchandise are, for some reason, vicious. What’s worse; they say things to you that are essentially verbal middle fingers.

For instance today, I noticed a woman aggressively fondling something we carry at the store called a Shag Bag. It’s a bag with a zipper seal that is filled with vibrators, condoms and other goodies. The vibrator supplies inside the bag are enclosed in a plastic case. My sixth sense kicked in and sure enough she unzipped the bag and removed the plastic unit from within which encased the vibrator parts. She then began to open that plastic piece which is when I jumped in.

Me: “I’m sorry, we actually don’t allow customers to open the merchandise.”
Her: “It fell out.”

It fell out. The words are still in my head. She may as well have walked over to me and just punched me in the eye, because obviously she thinks I am the dumbest person in America. My associate Jovan overheard the exchange and we had a good unspoken laugh about it. Honestly…people assume that just because you are surrounded by dildos that your brain has been reduced to rubble.

Customer: Do you have any instructional DVDs?
Me: Yes, what type of instructional DVD are you looking for?
Customer: Straight..
Me: ..ok, do you want a guide to oral, anal, bondage, spanking..?
Customer: Regular..

Man: Beer belly, greasey black hair held behind his head in a ponytail with a rubber band, baseball cap, ear and nose hair, sunglasses despite the overcast weather, sweatpants and not-matching sweater, purple and green bag.

After lingering outside the door to the Toy Store for approx five minutes, man enters.

Man: Do you have g-strings for men?
Associate B: No, we don’t carry any clothes.
Man: You don’t have any? Why not?
Associate B: Oh it’s just not something we carry. We don’t carry clothes.
Man: Ah that’s what I wanted…
Associate B: Yeah, sorry about that, but you can go down to 4th St. There’s a store there that carries them.
Man: They have them at Fantasy World.
Associate B: Yes they do.
Man: But not here.
Associate B: Correct. Sorry.
Man: Just trying to make my fantasies a reality, ya know? Can’t do that here, huh?
Associate B: Not that one, no.
Man: Do you like fantasies?
Associate B: Excuse me?
Man: Do you have any fantasies?
Associate B: Everybody does.
Man: (having found a local freebie gay mag) Hey these are nice pictures. Do you like these pictures?
Associate B: They all look the same to me.
Man: All young guys, yeah. You’re young too, aren’t ya?
Associate B: Getting older by the minute. Did you need help with anything else?
Man: No I guess not. 4th street?
Associate B: That’s right. Good luck.