An open letter to the old lady who told me to “have fun” after buying condoms.
It’s you. It’s always you. No, not specifically you, but you. Your type. An old lady. But this time it was worse. Why can’t it ever be some young and spry college dude trying to make a few extra bucks to afford his Bud Light and Pop Tarts? I would be okay with that! Sure, it’s always awkward to me, but at least I feel like he would understand my pain. We would move along in the transaction, not making eye contact. But it wouldn’t be out of disrespect. Oh no, in this case it would be out of PURE respect. He knows what I’m using them for, I know what I’m using them for. He knows it’s awkward for me, and I know it’s awkward for him (presuming… well… you know, he purchases them.) He knows I know and I know he knows and he knows that I know he knows and vice versa. For that reason, our eyes never meet. It helps… somehow. I ask
“insert or swipe?” He replies,
“Insert.” We both know there’s a joke in there. A terrible, horrible joke relating directly to the item he is stashing in my plastic Walgreens bag. We ignore it. He tells me to have a nice day and I take my things and, without looking back, say back to him.
But instead this happens. Why does this happen? To me of all people! What events in my past life lead me to such a horrible moment? What bad karma have I racked up to deserve this? I mean, Christ almighty, there were other people in line behind me! They had to have felt the same cringe-inducing pain I felt upon hearing those words exit your old, dried out lips.
Gross. Ick. I feel unclean. It was bad enough that entering through those sliding doors, I was instantly taken away from my fantasized reality of a young, male cashier. Instead, I was greeted with the familiar “Hi, welcome to Walgreens,” in that raspy, “my friends all live in the cemetery” voice. Retire. I’m begging you. Quit holding back the youth of America. I’m sure there’s a young man who wanted this job. He wanted a little extra money on the side; but instead, bored by your pre-occupations of Bingo and shuffle boarding, you departed from your Alzheimer’s-ridden congregation of senior citizens and came here to shove items in bags, tear off receipts, and make people uncomfortable. You know what? I’ll level with you, I think I get it. I’m sure old-folks’ homes are boring and depressing. I can understand why you might want to escape that place and come here, desperately trying to emulate the adult life you once had. That is 100% fine by me. It’s good to see the elderly still out there contributing toward society, each minimum wage paycheck at a time. There’s a reason I’m writing this letter however, and that reason is that you’re a piece of shit. Was that too far? I’m not apologizing. However, I suppose I could phrase things a little more family friendly-ish, respect your elders and all. Ehem… That reason is that you have forgotten all basic mannerisms to acting politically correct in public. Yes, you, dirtbag. The greeting was up to par, I suppose... However, if you come wheel chairing your way back into society to try and be useful, the least you could do was sound a little less like you want to unplug your own life support when welcoming someone to Walgreens. This letter is not a critique on your attitude however.
This letter is to address the fact that your farewell to me, a customer purchasing condoms, was “have fun.” Jesus of Nazareth, why would you say that? Wonderful, that’s exactly what I want to think about when rolling rubber down my crotch, was YOUR crotchety old face cascaded in wrinkles and remnants of skin cancer. You do realize you have to be erect while putting one on? Have you and your abandoned mineshaft forgotten or do you simply lack any experience? Actually, I’m sure you have experience; however, I doubt your husband has gone anywhere near your dust-embroidered cooch with an erection in literally decades; whether that be the confining restrictions a coffin puts on popping it up, or the fact that blood simply refuses to flow down those highways of love any longer. Might I recommend Viagra? Psshh, who am I kidding, I’m sure you’ve already tried everything. Whatever your case may be, please quit your diction-based assault on my sex life. Is it because I’m young? It’s because I’m young, isn’t it? Some high school rabble-rouser walking in the store buying a product that can only mean he’s some deviant, rebellious, millennial piece of trash. Those words were an attack, you wanted to ruin my day. You wanted me to think about that when using them, it was a deterrent. Well, lady, whoever and wherever you are, your vocal poison was effective, but not effective enough. I held my head high, and took my product out of the door with pride.
“Thanks.” What else was I supposed to say? There’s no good response to that! Ugh. Whatever, it’s over and I suppose it probably won’t ever get much worse than that. I guess I’m over it…
But seriously lady, fuck you.
Someone choosing a different Walgreens