Kinko's or kink

I had to go to Kinko's yesterday to photocopy some documents. Now, normally, I don't think a trip to Kinko's would generate a blog post, but this one seems to have. I'm not writing about leaving my American Express card in the copy machine and driving away. (Which I did.) Or the immediate sinking feeling I had when I realized that the AMEX was still in the machine and I was 10 miles away. Frantic 411 to get the number and call the store to see if the card was still there or if someone had just received the best Christmas shopping binge ever. Whew, the card was still in the machine. (Later when I picked up my card, the employees commented that this happened with huge frequency. Hello, Kinko's perhaps you need a better self-service system. Hello, wanna be thieves. Linger in a Kinko's to snag credit cards left behind in the copiers.

OK, enough about the Kinko's fiasco. On with the true blog. A few doors down from the Kinko's there happened to be a sex shop. Now, I've been in sex shops before in my world tours (including more than a few in Amsterdam which one would assume are pre-eminent in their class. This particular store is quite small. But every inch of space was utilized by rows and rows of rubber, glass, metal, leather and lace goods. I've never seen so much potential joy packed into such a small area.

As I moved to a wall to peruse the merch, a sales woman interrupted my rapt fascination with, "If you have any questions or need any help, just let me know." I did a part turn in irritation and saw her out of the corner of my eye and gave her a quick nod. "OK." I couldn't help but notice her lip ring and think of what that would be good for. And then 'what a pain in the ass it would be to eat with a lip ring dragging across your fork with every bite'.

As my attention returned to the wall, I was astonished at the wide variety of um, objects designed for pleasure. I couldn't help but wonder how the people creating these things talk about their jobs... At a party, would the introduction go like: Hi, I'm Bob, I design sex toys for a living. Can I just ask you what you like or don't like about your favorite toy?

Riiight. So, I wandered through the store along with about 8 other people. Two of which were women and a sales clerk in search of the perfect new toy for one of them. The discussion was loud in the small store and the two couples and other people got an education on vibrating vs. non-vibrating, multi-speed vs. single or no speed, etc... One couple was quite rotund and I was more than a little freaked out to see the woman with a fistful of lingerie (type stuff) march into the dressing room. I moved to another wall to avoid seeing if her male counterpart went in with her. Ewwww.

Toward the door on my way out, I found a group of shelves with personal lubricants on them. Silicone based (which are supposed to be the best.) Gun Oil, something I'd read about in passing on a blog caught my eye and they had tester bottles of each to feel. So, I put a tiny dab on my finger to work around and see how long it took to dry up like Astroglide or KY would. It didn't. I was astounded. By now, I was comfortable that there really was so stigma to being in the sex shop and that everyone there was perfectly normal and just looking for ways to enhance their boudoir experience.

I turned to ask the question if Gun Oil was the best of the lubes available. "Let me check." There were 4 sales women on the floor and yet she went to the office to ask and talk to someone. After a lengthy discussion, she returned and said, someone was going to come and talk to me. What? More people have to be involved? A guy walks out and saunters over the shelves. He starts talking about thinness of the liquids and points out a couple that are better, then says, the best one is currently out of stock but should be in on Monday. He shows me what the bottle should look like and I thank him and make my way to the door.

As I'm about to escape, the woman says, "I really like your Chucks." For a moment I'm totally non-plussed. Is this sex shop speak for my butt or something? Then I realize she's looking at my shoes.

"Are those custom made?"
"Um, yes," I stammered.
"I looooove them," she continued. "You designed them?"
"Yes. they are part of the RED campaign." I showed her the red eyelet that symbolizes the fight against AIDS.
"I just love them," she gushed.

It was about then that it dawned on me that she was hitting on me. A woman in a sex shop was hitting on me. Bwahahahha. I said, "Thanks." and exited the store. So, that's my sex shop tale.