I have a friend, let’s call him Seamus (that’s pronounced “SHAY-muhss”) who may or may not be married. Let’s hypothetically say that he is, because it makes the story more interesting. We’ll call his wife…. Persephone (“perr-SEFF-oh-NEE”). Seamus is constantly trying to get Persephone to wear a thong, and she keeps saying no for various reasons. Finally she caved and said she would wear one when he does.

So as a gag joke (or maybe as a “not-so-gag-joke”…I really don’t know) Persephone and her co-worker went to the adult bookstore and bought Seamus a thong, camouflage print (presumably so he can still look sexy and match in fatigues). It was codenamed “The Mini-cooper.”

Anyways… this got me thinking… I’m sure most of you have been into an Adult Bookstore (aka “Porn Shop” or whatever) at *least* once in your lives. Some of you are probably frequent buyers, and I imagine there are even one or two of you who either work there, have worked there, or could open one up with things found around your house.

Have you ever gone into one and seen someone you know? There’s like this unwritten code that Adult Bookstores are like Las Vegas; what happens in there, stays in there. I think that’s a side-effect of the level of faux-puritanism still present in American society. Let’s say a guy sees someone he is an acquaintance with (but not necessarily buddy-buddy with). They may make eye contact, and then have a deer-in-headlights moment when they realize that they were both seen in there by someone who knows people they know. And when the both walk out, they will never speak of it again. It’s like a dirty little secret.

Other people talk about the Adult Bookstore like you’re going to Kroger’s or Wal-Mart: “Let’s see…. I need to go to the bank, buy some bread, get a sex swing and some flavored lube, return these books to the library, and get my oil changed.” These are the people who you would see looking closely at all the different vibrators to see which one has the best features for the best value.

Then there’s the faux-rebellious bookstore-patrons. These are commonly kids who are freshly 18, or pretty much anyone who hasn’t fully developed a sense of personal security. They talk about going to an adult bookstore like it’s a secret ritual that they were tough enough to do. “Oh yeah, and later on, we’re going to the adult bookstore to buy some porn and some anal beads.” These are the people who are in there just to say that they’ve done it, like it’s some kind of forbidden city. They’ll buy the first thing they can get their hands on; which I think is the only way the adult bookstore can sell some of the more oddly shaped buttplugs and flavored-ball-gags. (“This goes where???”)

Personally, I have never been in one of the private viewing booths, but I always thought that was an interesting feature to have in a adult bookstore. Seeing the sign for “private viewing booths” always reminds me of that conversation from the movie “Clerks” where Randall is talking with Dante about “jizzmoppers” — the guy who cleans up the booth after a dude blows his load in it. The stores never explicitly say what the booths are for — it’s that same kind of unwritten faux-puritanism as mentioned earlier. We all know what they’re really for… you aren’t paying 5 bucks for 10 minutes just to check out the plot. I’ve often thought it would be entertaining to work there and see how often people try to sneak into the booths with someone else. (That would probably be the “faux-rebellious” type who try that the most often, I imagine…they’re going for the badge of courage there.)

Speaking of working in one — how wild would that be…. I mean, can you imagine working in an adult bookstore, and then seeing your patrons around town at various places? How entertaining! You see Jim Smith at the checkout line of the local grocery store and remember that he just bought “First timers volume 7″ — You go down to the BMV to renew your driver’s license and one of the attendants was just in your store two nights before buying several packets of flavored lube. Or better yet — you go to a bank to apply for a loan, and your loan manager was just in your store the night previous buying a saddle and a strap-on! I half-wonder if that would materially affect the likelihood of you getting a loan… It would be so hard to keep a shit-eating grin off your face if you were in a situation like that.

“Uh, hello…. Mr. Smith? Yeah…. your loan has..um…. been approved…. please don’t tell my wife.”

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