Tuesday, March 30, 2010

adventures in bookselling—sex


Seriously, though. Among the store sections that most of us HATE to straighten is the SEXUALITY section. It’s located—either by accident or design—on the far side rear of the store. Walk back there at any time and you’re likely to find bunch of crusty ol’ guys or giggling young would-be studs—depending on the time/day of the week.

For some reason I can’t fathom, the Kama Sutra comes wrapped in glossy, bright red paper, which naturally gets pulled off by those I search of, shall we say, enlightenment of the sexual nature. OK, so maybe pulling off a wrapper is no big thing, But why CONTINUE to take them off? It’s all the same book, folks.

(An aside: as a young child my mother would often return from shopping with a box wrapped in blue and white striped paper. When I inquired as to what it was, she replied “napkins.” For years, I wondered why our paper table napkins came gift wrapped. Only to discover in my early teens that Modess wrapped their sanitary napkins in that paper for discretion, I assume. Like anybody who knew what a sanity napkin was, wouldn’t recognize the paper, eh? Let’s hear it for the 1950s.)

Back to the 21rst century, people.

So the other day I’m heading to the head and glance down at an attractive, obviously enamored young couple, laying all over each other in one of our large armchair. As I’ve said before, many of our “customers” confuse our store with their living rooms.

I can’t help but notice the book splayed in front of the them—which they are studying—displays an intimate coupling I’ve never been limber enough to attempt, even in my youth.

“Hey guys,” I say softly, bending over. They look up, the girl turning scarlet. “No worries about me,” I add. “But the way you are sitting, anyone heading to the restroom will get a full view. You may want to switch to the chair on the other side of the table."

When I come out of the restroom, they smile and wave from the other seat.

Now for something completely different. A small case of sexual confusion.

A colleague adopted a tiny kitten a short time ago, which he named Bea Arthur. He would often regale us with tales of the trials of bringing up a toddler cat.

Last week I saw him sitting in the break room and inquired as to what Bear Arthur was up to. He grimaced a bit before explaining he had noticed during one of his daily bathing (Yes, his pet was bathed daily.) , something odd. Upon further examination, Bea turned out to be Bentley.

Who knew?

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