Yesterday was a slow and boring shift at the Good Vibes store I worked at. The other stores rocked, while I sat around and quickly degenerated into a total dork. I blame it all on "underpants-on-the-outside-guy." He’s a regular, comes in once a week or so, and is a bona-fide crazy street person who, as you may guess, likes to wear his undies as outies. I was behind the register with a dyke I work with and she said, "hey there’s my boyfriend." I turned around to see underpants-guy with his back to us, staring down our stack of free newspapers and fliers by the door. Undies on the outside — check. Shirt — none. Lacy black underwire bra — check. Hardhat — check. Our free literature was really bothering him, and we watched him rearrange it with unrestrained frustration into a system that, well, maybe you have to wear your underpants on the outside to understand. After we left and we were rearranging the stacks, my pal told me that last week he came in, dressed as usual (though sans hardhat) and holding a book titled "Are You my Daddy?" It was a gay humor book, with all these different gay male archetypes in it. He wanted to look through it with a sweet gayboy employee, and told him that there was no page for our gayboy, but if there was it would be "SATAN FATHER FUCKER" and then he erupted into peals of laughter, squishing his gnome-like face into a twisted rictus of glee. I could only imagine our sweet employee recoiling in horror, while my dyke pal laughed along with underpants-guy. She really does admire underpants-guy, she says he "has style."
Later, I found myself playing with the Ecsta-sleeves with an employee I’ll call Nurse Yum. The sleeves are scary to me — not because I judge any man’s desire to fuck the little pocket pussies, and in fact I’ve heard they feel pretty good, but the purple vulvas and blue anuses remind me of dismembered Smurfs. Plus the material smells weird, like wet asphalt, and they’re kind of oily. The freaky thing is, the material picks up dirt in a way that balls up and looks like gray Smurfette genital warts, and Nurse Yum and I took turns peering into the orifices and freaking ourselves out. We decided to put clean floor models out, of course, but I couldn’t resist making the two orifices kiss and sing little songs to each other in an attempt to make Nurse Yum pee her pants in hysterical laughter. When that failed, I handed the vulva off to a coworker I shall call Miss Megaboobs, and we pretended we were in a Kung-Fu film, fighting the stretchy sleeves like nunchucks.
My mind was gone. And I’m sure I will be taken to task for this report. But I managed to out-dork everyone when I discovered the bin full of men’s leather jock straps with zippers up the front. The cups in these things are ridiculously spacious, I mean, you could pack a porn star horse cock in there and still have room for your wallet, keys and a sandwich for later. I managed to wrap one around my head, with the cup over my face and mouth and the elastic straps over my ears — and I snuck up on coworkers breathing heavily and saying "Hello, Clarice. It puts the lotion in the basket, Clarice." There was a photo taken, and I’ll post it as soon as Miss Megaboobs can figure out how to get it off her cell phone…
