Dealing with idiotic man-children in the sex shop

There are some people that come into the sex shop where I work whose faces I want to claw off with a rusty rake. They mostly consist of people with male genitalia who may be middle-aged adults but choose to behave like overgrown idiotic asshole children. They also mostly travel in packs. Like wild animals that need the protection of the herd in order to approach the scary, unknown jungle that is the modern day adult novelty store where a giant ego-threatening dildo lurks around every corner.

They usually arrive with childish grins plastered across their middle/teen-aged/ twenty-something year old faces, pointing and guffawing like a pack of overstimulated spectators at a carnival. They run from item to item, hurling a variety of sexist, homophobic, ageist, fatphobic and racist slurs in every direction like they just can’t help themselves. They spew this verbal diarrhea all over the god damn place, and then when they encounter me they decide to disguise their douche-ridden dialogue as humour and offer me the ultimate privilege of sharing it with me. I mostly just fight the urge to glare at them and instead imagine that they will all die in horrible accidents that involve full-body chemical burns and fatally sharpened dildo skewers.

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One such day when a typically delightful group of asswads entered the toy section of the store where I was working I fought back a grimace and said a polite hello. The posse approached a table of male masturbation toys, which is something they never seem to be able to resist mocking (“LOOK AT THESE BRO! WHO WOULD USE THIS? YOU KNOW WHO? Insert name here WOULD! OH YA HE WOULD LOOOOOVE THAT SHIT!”). At this point Dick #1 attempted to open a toy package. From across the room by the cash register I shouted, “Please don’t open that without asking!” Dick #1 muttered sorry and closed the lid amidst chuckles from his friends. “What are these anyway?” he said. I looked over, and my enthusiasm for this riveting discussion that we were about to engage in must have been written all over my face.“Male masturbation toys,” I answered. “Well obviously that’s what it is, but what kind is it?” he retorted, starting to walk over, which is never a good sign. I would have loved to say, “The kind I beat you upside the head with”, but instead I decided to let the toy do the talking.“Well luckily we have a tester right here,” I announced as I grabbed one on the shelf behind me and plunked it down onto the counter, adjusting it so that the suction cup on the bottom was firmly rooted to the flat surface and the pussy lips were standing upright.

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The man-children gathered around the counter like they were about to witness the bearded lady do a trick as they exclaimed and laughed at the spectacle that is a manoeuvrable pussy sleeve. The soft, flesh-like vagina tube sat inside of a plastic canister, kind of like a knock-off Fleshlight, except with a suction cup affixed to the bottom of it.“You can attach the stand anywhere you like and just go to town,” I said, like a ringmaster trying to build up the excitement of the crowd. They burst into peals of laughter. So typical. As Dick #2 inspected the toys’ faux labia he pointed out some dirt and smudges that had accumulated on the squishy material from other curious shoppers. I shrugged and said, “Ya, this one has been a bit manhandled,” which produced even more laughter. It may have just been me, but this time they sounded a bit awkward, and I couldn’t quite tell if any of them had clued into the fact that if I hadn’t been talking about a fake vagina that sentence would sounded super sexual molestation-ish. “It looks pretty greasy,” added Dick #3.“Just a bit,” I responded in my best, I-don’t-give-a-shit voice, which set them off again. That seemed to appease their need for small-minded entertainment because they dispersed and shortly after made their way out of the store. I stood there watching them go and let out an audible sigh, grateful for their departure, which couldn’t have come too soon.

This is the crux of why, as an employee, I hate interacting with groups of men in my sex store. Young or old, they only laugh when the humour is violent or horribly discriminatory, and taking part in it mostly just leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I would rather just shoo them all out of the store with a big broom like the pack of thick-headed ignorant hooligans they are, or sit them down and lecture them about unpacking their immature, sex-negative, gender-stereotype based, offensive attitudes or give them all a good whack in the face with the long girthy dildos that they all find seem to find so hilarious (yet secretly fear). At least the daydreams are immensely satisfying.

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