Push for Assistance

In an effort to rebalance my whacked out hormones, I recently stopped taking oral contraceptives. I’ve been walking around for the past few months snapping at people, because, god, do you really always have to look that way? And who ate the last goddamn yogurt? And no, I don't want to sleep with you. I'm tired. And awww, this toilet paper commercial always makes me tear up. I love you.

Thanks to my new boss’s inability to trust me to be able to do my my monkey job because I haven't been in the industry for four hundred years, I have a lot of free time on my hands at work- time to spend comparing condoms on the internet while my boss pulls his hair out as he tries to run the entire company. Furthermore, my entire life revolves around reviews. I absolutely refuse to go to a restaurant, see a movie, or buy anything new without first consulting the internet. And thus began the hunt for the perfect condom. After a quick Google search, I found what I was looking for- the holy grail, the crème de la crème, the pick of the litter of latex contraception- the Crown Skinless Skin condoms, described as the thinnest condom on the market, odorless, tasteless, the condom of the (porn) stars, and made in Japan. The Japanese not only have us beat in the automotive and technology industries, they're kicking our asses in the sex industry as well. Being the slave that I am to instant gratification, I couldn't waste time with ordering on the internet and waiting 7-9 days for the delivery of my discreet, unmarked, sex box. I did another quick Google search and found that I MIGHT be able to purchase them at my local CVS. If they didn't have them, though, no worries, backup plan! The Durex Extra Sensitive condoms came in at a close #2 on the "Best Condoms of 2009" list. American made! I could simply snatch up a box of these babies and use them while awaiting my Crown Skinless Skin delivery from The Condom Depot. Sure, I'm a little neurotic, but you will never find me without a plan.

We walked into CVS, teenagers again, all paranoid that the store clerk would have a pretty good idea of what our evening had in store for us, as well as exactly what it was going to look like. Buying condoms alone? Not a big deal. The store clerk knows you're probably going to get some, but with who? It's a mystery. Buying condoms together? You might as well both strip down right there on the counter and show everyone your nakeds, because guess what, THEY'RE ALREADY IMAGINING IT.

We hurried down the Family Planning aisle only to find that the condoms were locked in a glass case. I scanned over the brands quickly- no Skinless Skins. However, there were about 12 different variations of the Durex Extra Sensitives- 3 packs, 12 packs, 24 packs, lubricated, not lubricated. After a brief consultation, we decided that 3 were too few, but 24 were too many. We were set. We wanted the 12 pack of Durex Extra Sensitive condoms. But how? Above the glass case was a large red button which read, "PUSH FOR ASSISTANCE." You have got to be fucking kidding me. I convinced myself that there was a man sitting in a small room, his sole duty to come quietly to us when a small red light went off at his desk. Surely CVS wasn't going to expose me in front of all of these Sunday afternoon post-worship shoppers.

WRONG.

"ASSISTANCE NEEDED IN FAMILY PLANNING." Not exactly the anonymity I was hoping for.

An older overweight store clerk rushed over to us, refusing to look at either of us directly. Clearly he was as embarrassed for us as we were of ourselves. He unlocked the case.

Looking straight ahead and through the condom shelf, he's all, "Which ones?"

"Um, the Durex Extra Sensitive 12 pack right there..." I mumble back, keeping my cool, like I'm picking out scratch-off lottery tickets.

"Hmmmm.... which pack? Ribbed or not ribbed?"

"Um.... not ribbed. Thanks." What am I, ordering a cheeseburger? SURE, LET'S MAKE IT A VALUE MEAL.