Working in An Adult Store: Tales of a Retail Associate

When I was 27, I found a job in Dallas working as a retail associate for an adult store, where the walls were adorned with boxes of various dildos and vibrators, an assortment of condoms and adult films, and things that I had never heard of before such as penis pumps and pocket pussies. The job paid $8.25 an hour, and I must confess, what lacked in pay was compensated for by the experiences I had with the customers I engaged with in the mornings and late at night.

Weekends were popular for the bachelorettes to come in and purchase an array of gag gifts like penis straws and penis shaped chocolates, and they were also popular for the wackos in the area to come in and purchase items that they would later try to return.

One evening when it was dark, probably around 9 PM on a Saturday, I saw a station wagon pull up to the front. A wild-eyed woman with two small children walked in and out in quite a hurry, and before I could muster holding in a fart, the children were quickly taken out and put back into the station wagon, with the woman coming back in.

I have never smoked crack, but I was convinced that this lady was riding the Crack Cocaine Express. She meandered through the aisles like a whirlwind, picking up boxes and saying things like,

“Ah, HAIL NO!” only to continue rummaging through items on the shelves before coming up to me at the counter and slamming a blow-up doll on the glass by the register.

“How much is this bitch?” She asked me while wiping her nose and standing like an angry Ostrich, swaying from side to side. She sounded like a female Samuel L. Jackson and was staring me down awaiting an answer. As I looked at the package for the tag, I noticed there was a small bottle of talcum powder inside that had spilled just a little bit, but I did not say anything because that easily could have happened when it was slammed onto the counter.

“Let’s see,” I said. “This item is $180.00.”

“For this bitch here?” she replied.

“Yes ma’am.” All I could do was smile politely.

Struggling to make the decision while grabbing her forehead and swaying a little bit more, she looked at me and then at the package several times.

“Ok. Ring it up.”

“Would you like a bag?” I asked after scanning the box.

“Yeah, gimme a bag.”

I put the package along with the receipt into the bag and wished her well for the evening, hearing her yell at the top of her lungs as she got back into her car, speeding off into the night. Looking at the clock, I had about an hour to go before closing, so I went back into the stockroom to quickly have a cigarette and watched the security cameras in the back office. I noticed some of the lamb skin condoms were getting low so on my way back out I grabbed a few boxes and to replenish the inventory by the register.

A few more people came in and out, giggling as they looked through the bachelorette aisle. A couple of lesbians inquired about strap on dildos and a stripper purchased a few thongs before I heard the bell ring.

In walked the woman with the blow- up doll, with the box ripped open. Steam seemed to be evaporating from her ears and her eyes as she approached me with her purchase.

“Welcome back!” I said while smiling from ear to ear.

“Naw! Look!” She slammed the box in front of me. “This bitch got coke in her pussy!”

I was so utterly confused by what she was saying and did my best to not laugh in her face, but as I looked at the package before me, I noticed the talcum powder was everywhere.

“Um, ma’am, that’s the powder that probably spilled from this little bottle here, see?” I asked while picking up the bottle.

“You calling me a liar?”

Choo choo…

“No! Absolutely not!” I said.

“I am TELLING YOU that this BITCH has got COKE in her PUSSY!” She said this to me at least three more times, each time sounding as though the pitch of her voice was escalating as she demanded a refund, which I couldn’t give to her because the doll had been removed from the package and there was no way to tell whether or not it had been used. I had to explain to her as calmly as possible that I would have to wait until the next day when I would see my manager and he would be able to help with processing the refund. She furiously left with the package and the bag, pointing her finger directly at me.

My manager tried to explain to her that he could not take the doll back the next day because just as I had suspected, there was no way we could possibly know if it had been used or not. We never saw her again, and I look forward to when things get back to normal so I can tell this story at a dinner party.