Cast Upon the Thorns

Calling Time of Death on this one.

2008-11-28T18:59:00.004-08:00

Way back at the outset of this little venture, I mentioned that the continuation of this blog was predicated upon a certain level of anonymity.

That margin personal comfort has been lost.

It's been a hell of a run.

R.I.P.
Cast Upon the Thorns
28.04.06 - 28.11.08

Thanks for reading.
~ Lanius

Expecting better

2008-11-27T18:14:00.001-08:00

Despite my insinuation that I would be sitting out on why various sources might be so keen to excise sex from the searchable internet, I can't resist dipping in an oar and adding to the turbidity. What's more traditional than fisting a massive dead fowl and you'd be hard pressed to find a "turkey" more deserving of the treatment.

Being able to speak on whatever subject I feel needs to be addressed, at whatever length I deem suitable, and in whatever tone as I desire is damned important to me. No one has to listen to me nor do they have to agree with me. At the same time, I do get a bit tetchy when those who might desire to consider what I have to say are prevented from doing so. I know I find it more than slightly vexing when I have to play detective games to access information I desire especially when that information is not some obscure, arcane bit of trivia.

Ah, but I have forgotten that sex is the Scourge of All Civilization™. Thousands of years ago, peasants in the British Isles shivered in their beds for fear of dragon-prowed ships appearing out of the mists to show erotic scrimshaws to their wee bairns and craft anal beads from monastic relics. I mean dear gods, would anyone believe the Roman empire would have expanded past a couple of meager cities if they hadn't kept their citizens free of the destructive influence of sex?!

There is no legitimate reason for anyone to investigate anything touching upon the sexual. Any claim that the arts, science, or medicine might touch upon such filth is naught but a shameless lie.

And now we have the internet which is now almost synonymous with pornography. Alas, "who will think of the children" they keen. We have to sanitize their world. We cannot allow the remotest chance their tender, innocent eyes will fall upon human genitalia. The risks are just too great.

Seriously, does the "safe" search function of Google do anything other than shuffle the sexually dimorphic information off to some virtual oubliette?

Obviously, there's a significant portion of the populace who feel my absurd tirade of sarcasm above is divinely inspired truth rather than the scathing reproach it actually is, otherwise Google and their minions would not have achieved such a complete exclusion of the sites. It has to be the sex that leaves a bad taste in their mouths since damn near every other form of human interaction can be accessed through the filter. Perhaps those people need to learn to swallow faster or enjoy the facial.

What's my personal take on this issue? Pay attention to your own damn affairs.

If you can't trust adults to do their jobs rather than on the internet scouring for porn, then you need better employees. No filter is going to prevent them from getting into some other form of mischief. Don't ask why the floor of the server room is sticky.

For those adults who just want to pretend it doesn't exist, grow up and deal with it. The rest of the world has no responsibility to rearrange itself to suit your preferred delusion. In fact, you make it worse for everyone by inspiring the porn spammers into ever more obscure methods of sneaking their product past the word filters.

Those of you with children, they're your damned responsibility. It is not my job to keep your little fuck trophy safe, whole, and/or happy. You chose the career or to become a parent, you made the commitment. I resent the bloody hell out of having the scope of my web searches curtailed because some self-important cow can't be bothered to not only keep a close eye on her free-range veal, but gets coddled in the expectation that the world can be made completely innocuous for the snot-soaked little darling.

So in conclusion, I strenuously object to the heavy-handed censorship adopted by Google's search filter. It's nothing more than an indelicate tool for placating lazy thinkers. Further, it encourages a polarized view of the world and incomplete synthesis of concepts.

Consider it a declaration of personal vendetta that I will continue to use with pride words from the "Unspeakable List." I may not be to everyone's taste, but I will be damned if I will cower in fear from vocabulary, regardless of context.

What did you expect?

2008-11-26T18:05:00.001-08:00

It looks like the newest cause célèbre of the sex blogging community has to do with Google's "safe search" function. This isn't all the new since even if you tell the handy-dandy tube elves they don't need to exert themselves omitting anything from the hunt, the results will still show rather odd holes in the data presented. As it happens, it appears to be most notably those sites that someone somewhere apparently considers "sexual."

The likes of Susie Bright and Tony Comstock can dig into parsing which words constitute the untouchable data caste and the connotations for why such a condition exists. I think they are welcome to it. They have the time and the inclination to flip rocks in search of the pallid, gelid grubs lurking below the surface as well as the skill to present their findings in a supremely cogent manner.

What baffles me is that anyone seems surprised and outraged that this filtering is occurring.

The internet is such an astoundingly vast and dynamic reservoir of data that it is quite literally impossible to navigate without assistance. As time goes by, the power and complexity required by a given search engine to prove even marginally viable as a resource for a user must increase by powers of magnitude.

Therefore, a company who can present an easy to use and robust search engine will have invested many thousands of man hours and stunning sums of money to get it to that point. They will also be required by circumstance to continually refine and upgrade their system to keep up with both the expansion of information hitting the pool and the user. This tends to bar the casual programmer from being able to "home brew" their own solution. They simply don't have the resources to keep up. In turn, this means that companies like Google, enjoy an almost godlike monopoly amongst internet users.

This brings up three vital concepts. First, there is a metric butt-ton of money flowing to and fro across the net. There is more commerce online globally than in any geographical location and it's all theoretically accessible to any vendor anywhere in the world.

Second, despite the amount of times people will brainlessly parrot the statement, knowledge is power. It has been demonstrated a hundredfold that whoever controls the flow of information to a group controls that group. The internet is damn near the repository of human knowledge anymore and it’s global. Ponder for a moment what that might imply.

Third, people are fundamentally lazy. Most will take the simplest route without thinking about it. It's a rare individual who will devote themselves to doing more than the minimum necessary to provide their desired results. It's the reason people automatically turn to search engines such as Google in the first place.

With me so far? Good. Because it's impossible for any entity like Google to escape bias regardless of motive and there are no compelling reasons for them to resist temptation.

Because a search engine must have a means of selecting relevant information, there must be a mechanism to filter the results. There is no way to functionally implement such heuristics without unintentionally excluding some potential data sets. The more one refines the search string, the narrower the parameters of what will be included. This means the program has to make guesses as to what is desired, what is irrelevant, and what is undesired. By definition, there is an unavoidable margin of error.

Now let's blend in the financial aspect. No company that markets a wide-spread search engine is doing this out of the goodness of their collective heart. They are in it to make money. To be more specific, they are out to divert a significant portion of the money gadding about the internet into their own coffers. Other companies looking to maintain a firm footing in the virtual marketplace will be willing to pay dearly to make sure their products are prominently near the top of any search that might possibly overlap what a user is looking for. Implicitly, venders who don't direct part of their budgets into the search engine company's pockets are not going to enjoy much emphasis on their pages. Why talk an affiliate into paying for a priority search importance if their rival is going to show up just underneath for free? Thus, another layer of programming has been added to skew results in a desired direction.

Finally, if a company has the ability to pick and choose what information a given person has access to without having to face any consequence, why wouldn't they exert that power simply because they can? With a few lines of code, searches about the US history can skew the results to underscore whatever agenda they may desire. Sounds like I'm sinking into some paranoid Orwellian conspiracy theory here, but the mechanics are sound. Groups other than corporations are willing to spend money to support their aims and since everyone assumes the internet is too vast to manipulate, how often do people really question the objectivity of the search results?

Even when, such as now, people notice discrepancies in the data returned there isn't much that can be done in recourse. Short of a significant portion of the user base moving to another service, they won't feel a loss of revenue. Indeed, with this current furor, they may even show a spike in revenue due to increased web traffic from curious members of the public.

So tell me again, why is anyone shocked to discover their web browsing is being directed both overtly and covertly?

No shit, there it was

2008-11-25T18:20:00.000-08:00

One of the more entertaining aspects of this job are when customers want to play "Once Upon a Time" with me. To put it in a less whimsical fashion, these would be the rather common occasions when someone, usually a patron I have never laid eyes on before, informs me of some mythical service, product, or staff member they encountered at the store at some nebulous point in the past.

It can be truly stunning the fabrications they will spin out given the least provocation. I have heard detailed accounts of staff that I have never once met. The people telling me of this chimera are adamant in their anecdote, despite the fact I was the first person hired on here by the owner and as such have been present through the entire span of staffing. In the cases where the customer is truly exerting themselves to prove to me that Paul Bunyan/Superman/Ghandi or Stalin/Baba Yagga/Mr. Sinister once graced the payroll here, I take decided glee in revealing some lurid reason why they are no longer here. To hear me tell it, to work here paints a giant bullseye upon you where you are certain to succumb to some ghastly freak accident or unmentionable crime. The look of shock on their face or assumption of greenish pallor is all the thanks I require for my efforts.

Most recently I have had to smile and nod through a complex description of a sexual novelty that I don't think modern science could model without quantum theory. And yet, this guy assures me he'd once bought one in the seventies for about ten bucks. In case readers may think I am being overly harsh, this miracle toy vibrated, sucked, licked, and felt on the inside "exactly like a mouth". It was more lifelike than cyberskin or related materials too. And off this was confined to a total size not much larger than a juice concentrate package. The final touch was his vow that he'd been in a week or so back and we'd had one.

I wish. We'd make a bloody mint.

We get some of the best phantom merchandise ever.

I was way too generous

2008-11-24T18:17:00.000-08:00

The appointed hour of closing was at hand. The shelves were almost finished being set to right. Signs were being switched off. Lights were being methodically extinguished. Blessed escape was only minutes away.

Then They walked in.

Hi. I hate to rush you, but the store is currently closing down for the night. If you know exactly what you want I'd be happy to ring you up right now.

"Oh, OK. We're looking for massage oil."

Splendid. It's right here. I'll meet you at the register.

And I wait at the register as they poke through the various massage oils. I watch as they hold conferences about the various types. I do notice however they are no closer to the register than they were before and no decision seems to be forthcoming soon.

Is there a last second decision I can possibly help with?

"No, we're still just looking."

Yes, but it's past closing time and I'm waiting on you.

"Oh. Sorry."

They wander over to the lube.

"Which of these would be good for massage?"

I'm going to fucking kill you you lying sack of abscessed excrement. Actual massage or as a sexual lube?

"Massage."

Then the best stuff would have been right where you were just standing.

They go back to murmur over the bottles. I look at the clock and fume. I start to count down mentally.

5...

4...

3... My hand is poised to close the till for the night.

2...

They lay a vibrating cock ring on the counter.

Yeah, that makes total sense. Bastards.

They seemed rather shocked when the second the cash drawer closed, the register turned off and I told them acerbically to enjoy their night somewhere else.

Uncouth and on a budget

2008-11-21T21:38:00.003-08:00

It's a bit later than I usually like to churn something out, but what the hell, it's Friday. Can you honestly tell me there's a better day to say "Ah, fuck it" than Freya's day? I thought not.

In any case, there's been a marked influx of churls parading in here almost bursting at the seams until they can get within two feet of me before bellowing that they want to get fucked and/or fucked up and they have ten bucks.

When the blood hell did a ten dollar bill become the magic denomination to unlock all earthly pleasures? Depending on how you order, you can score a decent meal at some corner temple to the gods of burger flipping, but options are pretty limited here. One could watch a movie or two about an hour or take one home. I could set them up with some condoms and lube. I could sell them a magazine or two. That is about the extent of it. Ten bones are not going to unfurl the red carpet to a high roller weekend in Vegas.

And yet, they toss out that amount like they'd just hit the lottery. Incidentally, I've had a few of those. They tend to either grab whatever catches their eye or ask where the best stuff we have is and then produce a wad of large bills to cover the tab without so much as batting an eyelash at the total. I know they hit a jackpot that night because they always want to let me know they've done just that so they can draw out the moment that much longer.

Meanwhile, "Daddy Microbucks" is invariably looking stunned when I blandly inform them their budget is as anemic as a hemophiliac cutter.

Be that as it may, it still does not absolve them of their primary breach of intellect. Where, pray tell, does it say anywhere that it is within my purview to get anyone laid or high?

Let's take the first prong that forked assumption. I work in an adult store, sometimes incorrectly referred to as a "sex shop". I don't sell sex. In fact, the vast majority of items here are more attractive to people who aren't getting any. Ultimately, I don't give a greased shit what state a customer's sex life is in. People come in, I sell them sexually related items, and they leave. They can take it home to burn to heat their house for all I know. Point is, if no one wants any contact with your genitals when you come in the door, there is nothing on my shelves that is going to make you any more desirable. At the end of the day, you're still going to be masturbating in the corner sobbing brokenly in a fugue of cheap booze and denial. I shudder to think of what horror would exchange carnal favors for ten bucks. I guarantee, it won't be anywhere on this property.

Alright that leaves us with the ever so suave "get fucked up" desire. Of course the first thing that springs from my brain when I hear that is, "Sure, I'll kick the living shit out of you for ten bucks. Let me retrieve my favorite tire iron." Honestly, you just can't dangle such a tempting proposition to a frustrated misanthrope. Sadly, I know too well that they're not inquiring into free-lance direct suicide facilitation which neatly kills the plausibility of my defense to a grand jury. Oh well.

Therefore, they're asking, with the subtlety of a bullhorn, for something to get them high. Does that ever have good results? I don't peddle drugs. Any customer stupid enough to indicate they might want to make a deal is going to get booted if not permanently trespassed. In fact I'm disinclined to sell anything to them from that statement forward.

Why won't they let us spray for these pests?

Pausing for breath

2008-11-20T21:02:00.001-08:00

Bloody hell. I have things to write, but time has been in short supply.

Hey, at least this implies that business is good and a life outside the keyboard.

*Sigh*

Who needs an undisturbed sleep cycle?

2008-11-19T18:40:00.002-08:00

It would be vastly appreciated if friends and relations would refrain from unexpectedly expiring.

Really, it just does a number on the whole week.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have extremely vintage porn to release to the floor.

Out of sequence

2008-11-17T18:03:00.000-08:00

So the day ended with a distressingly vivid flashback to the 80's. Bleached out jeans, polo shirt with the collar standing straight up, spiky hair with bleached tips standing up with the help of ~~synthetic spooge~~ "product".

It was painful.

Not only was I beset with sartorial horrors of yesteryear best buried deep after a stake through the heart, decapitation, and a generous stuffing of holy wafers and garlic, but I had to restrain myself from pointing and laughing at the ridiculous twerp swaggering through my store. At least three times I had to stop myself from asking if Cory Haim knew he was raiding his closet.

A bit later I was treated to a glorious exchange with a preview customer. After establishing that yes indeed we had that capability, he set about rooting through our movie racks with all the delicacy and subtlety of a bear pursuing grubs in a fallen log.

Inevitably, he approaches the counter with several movies when only one will actually reach it. He pauses five feet short to put the discards onto the shelf.

Decide against those? I'd be happy to put them back for you. Which is a damned lie, I resent with undying rage that you're too stupid/self-involved to take those last few steps instead of just dropping them where you bloody well know they do not fucking belong.

He picks them up again and starts heading in the general direction he'd come from. Sure buddy, as if I can trust you to put them back anywhere near where they belong.

Seriously, I'll put them back.

So he walks back to his previous dump site and plants them right back on that shelf.

Sins of Shiva! Why do I even bother?

Such a joy to behold

2008-11-14T18:31:00.000-08:00

I watched a guy try to duck around the corner into the arcade whilst I was helping a pair of customers. He was even taking an extra helping of furtive in his body language.

You going to pay for those items first?

"What items?"

How about the ones you have jammed into your waistband for starters? I gave him a level, unamused stare.

He held his ground, valiantly attempting to call my non-existent bluff.

We can do this right now or when the cops show up. Last chance. The phone comes out, finger on the speed-dial.

"Fine." He handed me a small stack of items. "That's all of it."

Don't come back.

He sounded offended. "Don't worry, I'm never coming back here again."

Was he trying to sink a barb at the implication of losing a customer? When he's the lowest form of vermin known to society; a thief? How cute. I wish I could have shattered his knee-caps for him as a lovely parting gift.

Clothes can make the situation

2008-11-13T18:16:00.000-08:00

I found myself feeling contented and lucky the other day being able to attire myself for work without much regard beyond comfort on a chill, rainy day. I reflected on how much of a bother it has been in the past when I had to conform to uniform guidelines. Granted, there were some very good reasons for the staff to abide by a certain appearance. On the other hand, you'd also get stuck having to show up in clothes that were ill-suited for the current weather quite often as well.

No such problem here. And I was feeling pretty damned smug about that until reality reasserted itself and I recalled that my choices of dress are not entirely free of constraint. I work with the public. Sure, I can show up to work in extremely casual clothes if I so chose. However, not many people are going to want to buy products to get naked and friendly with if I look like I just crawled out of the residue of a keg party.

Oh wow. How insightful. Who would have thought that hygiene would serve any purpose besides allowing the fascist state to keep the common man down. Put down the raised fists there, skippy. Savor the sarcasm a little.

Fortunately, everyone here on the payroll side has enough mental kindling and/or pride to know better than to show up looking like utter shit. Ninety-nine percent of the time, that's where the examination ends.

There's another caveat that MUST be taken into account here though. Call it an unspoken current of self awareness if you will. Various articles may have connotations. For example, a female clerk showed up here once with her hair in pigtails, in a white blouse, pleated plaid skirt, knee-high stockings, and mary jane type shoes. Despite how cute and fun her ensemble was for her outside the walls of the building, there are going to be very predictable results for an appearance that's a flat-out popular fetish. Although her shift passed without incident, she did spend as much of it as she could outside of customer sight. She told me later that it never entered her mind it could have been a problem.

There are a few perils lurking in my gender's direction too. Care must be exercised with the use of bandanas or any other small quantity of fabric. A hastily pocketed rag can lead to a shockingly specific offer by a customer on the floor. Motorcycle leathers could also spark some crossed signals.

If nothing else it can lead to some great stories around the water cooler.

Reach out and annoy someone

2008-11-10T18:32:00.000-08:00

*Ring ring*

Hello. Thank you for calling Lanius' Licentious Library.

"Hello. Um, what are your hours of operation?"

We are open from [relatively early] to [damn late].

"Alright, and what time do you open?"

*Sigh* Perhaps, sir, you shouldn't be cleaning out your ears with a meat thermometer. [relatively early]

"And you close at what time?"

But if you insist on that thermometer, you really should keep pushing until you feel that second bit of resistance give way, then give it a really good swirl. [damn late]

"Alright, and where are you located?"

Gods have mercy upon my poor, broken brain. Speaking even slower and with careful diction, I recited the address.

"What road is that off of?"

Then again. Oh please oh please would it be too much to ask for him to suffer an acute stroke or MI while he's on the phone with me? I've been a "good" boy.

"Your cross street would be what? And you're off what street?"

I'm almost positive the grinding of my teeth is entirely an artifact of my imagination. However, I do think I could hit the back wall with my impression of an annoyed horned toad. And once more unto the breach before it stuck.

I have no idea if this joker refused to turn his damned hearing aid on, couldn't be bothered to simply state he wasn't understanding the question or was as dumb as a sodium dive belt, but asking the same bloody question over and over again when the only possible answer is a discrete date set just makes me dread having you EVER set foot on the premises.

Oh who am I kidding, he'll be three states over and an hour late if he ever attempted to shop here.

I can always use more customers like this

2008-11-06T18:40:00.000-08:00

The other day I had a pair of young women happen into the store. At first, they just seemed to be slowing taking the place in, which is not so unusual for female shoppers. If a place has a certain ambiance or "energy" to it, women prefer not to linger for very long if at all.

Fairly quickly, they relaxed and settled in to do some shopping. It wasn't very long before they were at my counter asking me about lubricants. They wanted something condom compatible, silicone based, and very good.

Let me tell ya, nothing is more delightful than informed shoppers. They make my job so much more rewarding. So I brought out the various varieties of silicone lubes we carry and laid out their various strengths and weaknesses before indicating one that I thought would suit their needs best based upon the information they'd presented me. I then stepped back and let them read labels and consider price amongst themselves in peace.

My recommendation won out and they had me hold on to it for them while they investigated the novelties. Perhaps ten minutes later they were back with toys in hand. I verified they were in working order, rang them up, and the ladies were on their way.

As they left, they both turned to thank me for my assistance and promised they'd shop here again.

I was smiling pleasantly for the next hour at least.

Enough already

2008-11-04T18:42:00.002-08:00

Yes, today is the bloody election.

I was sick of the whole mess months ago.

The next sodding idiot who intrudes upon my consciousness spouting off about how the election is progressing is going to be found with a large dildo crammed down their gullet and shrink-wrapped in our dumpster.

Taking a crack at a new week

2008-11-03T18:45:00.000-08:00

It comes with the territory that some building maintenance will come your way on a somewhat regular basis. Entropy is not our ally when the stakes are keeping a functional structure around you and products consumers must make their very own.

However, man must know his limitations.

On the to-do list was fixing the frame on a tall glass case. After poking and prodding at it for several minutes, I decided it was beyond my skill set. Attempting to force glass is a quick ticket to profanity and sparkling shards of incision.

So I decided to wait and see how my boss wanted to handle it. Mayhap there was a trick to it I was not aware of and I might learn something.

Lo and behold, he arrives to survey the progress of the project. After a moment of explaining why it had not been completed already, he then turned his own problem-solving skills to the matter.

We have some panes of glass to repair.

Most importantly, I didn't do it. That is worth it's weight in gold.

Carpe Noctum!

2008-10-31T19:06:00.000-07:00

Happy Halloween!

Crack open a cold one and celebrate.

Or perhaps just get a festive shirt, like this one.

Remember, dead girls never say no.

Yeah, I know... I'm going to Hell.

In the meantime, I'm going to enjoy my favorite holiday of the year.

Late Night Infomercials 1 - Education 0

2008-10-30T18:36:00.000-07:00

A small group wanders in and after ambling aimlessly for about ten minutes near the door, one of them decides to seek some help.

"Do you rent movies here?"

You know, I knew that vacant, dimly bovine cast to your eye meant you were an absolute genius. Let's see if I can tell you how to find your arse with both hands. Yes indeed we do.

He hares off before I can say anything further. I give a mental shrug. He'll be back as soon as the next question forms with the fury of two wildly flailing neurons. I surmise it's like a Hadron collider between his ears only less useful.

Twenty minutes later, he's made his return to the counter.

"How long is the rental?"

I tell him.

"And what do I need to rent?"

Freya's rusty bedsprings! His brain must have been all constipated with all that deep thought dammed up behind his teeth. We need ID, credit card, and the membership fee.

Once again, he goes shooting off back to his comrades.

Investigating the sale only titles.

Why the fuck do we bother putting up signs? Guys like him will never see them. So I hop up to head off the inevitable next step when his group dutifully deposits movies that can't be checked out on my counter.

Excuse me, but you're standing in our sale only section. None of these movies can be rented.

I get back a brief round of monosyllabics associated with understanding. Then as I was turning to leave them to their deliberations, the ringleader decided he needed clarification on an ambiguous point.

"Are the 'Girls Gone Wild' ones for rent?"

Of course not you cock giblet. I just told you seconds ago that NONE of the fucking movies in this area are rentable so obviously that meant that particular series would be the exception. Stop gargling diesel fuel unless you promise to fellate a blowtorch. No. Like I said, you're in the sale only section.

The group left.

Oh how I hate that bloody series of videos. The gibbering masses moo and low incessantly to know if we have them. They don't want to actually own any of them, they just want the guilty pleasure of viewing them without being so white-trash as to actually own any. And yet, they are not even remotely worth tainting our rental catalog with.

Spill-over

2008-10-29T18:35:00.000-07:00

It's been said before that if any human might encounter it somewhere, then there will be a fetish about it. The reality goes a bit further afield into the realms of non-euclidean couplings since the subconscious seems to kick forth some seriously baroque and irrational creativity. For our purposes of the moment, we'll just limit it to the things that someone might just happen upon.

Thus such fancies as shoes, nylons, gas masks, or dungarees come into focus. Out of that subset, has arisen what is referred to "whale tail." To get this effect simply take a female (could be male, it's just typically associated with women), put her in a thong, and then put her in either low-rise pants or skirt so the thong is visible over the top. From behind with a little creative visualization, the trace of the underwear resembles the tail flukes of a some lingerie cetacean.

Whoopdie fuck. It's a knicker fetish variant. I can grasp the underlying concept at play here.

And then I ran across a title here touting "muffin-top." For those not in the know, this would be flesh overflowing over the top of pants or skirts.

This is not a slam on lusher body types. It takes all kinds. Some like skin-clad skeletons. Others like muscles you can bend rebar on. And some groove on lots of upholstery. Clothing is going to hang on people depending on body type. I get that.

I'm a bit on the puzzled side how stuffing people into trousers tight enough to make the person look like someone stomped on one end of a tube of cookie dough revs the engines.

I'll sell it and I don't think the worse of folks who find it crotch-meltingly hot, but it's outside the realms of my understanding.

Burned

2008-10-28T18:14:00.000-07:00

You would think that anyone out there looking to make a buck selling things to another person would be aware of the effects of word of mouth upon their venture. It's enough of a force multiplier as it is when it's quite literally people talking amongst themselves about a particular business. However, when you take it all to the internet, it's global in scope.

Apparently EdenFantasies has suffered a collective blow to the head on this score.

If you're unaware, they're an internet-based purveyor of adult novelties. They engaged in a rather expansive campaign to get various blogs and forums to advertise or partner them. I politely declined their request. Those that did take them up on their offer tended to get all sorts of goodies to check out provided they published their reviews.

Up to this point, it sounds like a solid business relationship.

However, when you court someone like AAG (a.k.a. Always Aroused Girl) to perform some PR for your company because she's got the longevity, popularity, and connections to be a huge asset, you need to respect that.

Withholding payment for contracted work is not a smart move. Failure to sort matters out quietly to the satisfaction of both sides is even worse.

On the internet, reputation is capital. AAG established her's long before EF. EF borrowed on that to build themselves up. Three guesses who's going to suffer the most from this dispute?

The bottom line is this, if you know a company will shit all over their solicited contractors, they're just as likely to mistake their customers for an outhouse too.

h/t to Erosblog

Annoyance knows no gender

2008-10-27T18:30:00.000-07:00

Far and away, males traveling in groups more than one tend to be both dreadfully sophomoric and aggravating. I believe I've covered the topic a long while back in terms of general people watching patterns. The pack mentality almost always devolves the participants to the point where one would think the members had never seen a bare boob, let alone touched one in the course of their pitiful lives.

However, that doesn't mean the ladies won't get into the act. In a way, when they decide to cut loose, they're even worse than the men. Right now my mind's eye is ablaze with images that would make Conan blanch with the gusto I match his oft quoted mantra to action. Ah the sweet, sweet lamentations of the women.

They filtered in piece-meal, somewhat softening the overall impact of their group at the cost of drawing out the entire onset in much the same way as limiting yourself to flat soda and saltines can keep you on that ragged edge of nausea for what seems an eternity before the flu virus kicks off the immuno-revolution by reversing the digestive tract simultaneously kicking in the afterburners. Oh yes, you know it's going to be bad and you're clinging to every last scrap of control remaining to keep it at bay knowing that in the end, it won't be enough.

I wanted quit of them within five minutes of invading my domain. I'd settle for accomplishing this by rapidly concluding their sale(s) so they'd just go away, though as the seconds wore by I became less and less picky about what methods would yield immediate results.

The reasons for my surging antipathy where numerous. Initially, it was superficial irritation of people unable to converse at a reasonable voice level. This however, rapidly proved to be just the most immediate symptom of a running monologue distributed through five shrill harpy-like mouths.

If that wasn't quite adequate enough to put them on the map as a carbuncle on the scrotum of retail, they were all too eager to bring their plumbing foibles and current sex lives into explicit focus. Also, I might add at a volume that could not possibly be missed at any point in the store.

They seemed constitutionally unable to keep their volume moderated for the space of more than a couple minutes when chided they were a bit loud.

And they moved around. It was like the migration of bugling elephants, or perhaps cape buffalo. Massive, cud-chewing, and unconcerned with trampling anything that happened to stray into their path. They must have orbited the store at least a dozen times at apparent whim.

The bloody chits where here for over a fucking hour!

Yes, they bought things. I will even grudgingly state it was a decent sale.

Very thin consolation on a chilly day.

Rental patient

2008-10-23T17:58:00.002-07:00

Your humble narrator was quietly keeping to himself behind the counter. All the customers on the floor appeared to have things well under control and where playing nicely with the other children. It was an idyll too peaceful and productive for the fates not to tweak a thread for comedic effect.

So a gentleman approaches the counter and lays down a video without a word. Making the assumption his intent is to make the movie his very own, I begin to ring him up. When I bring up the total, he looks startled and tells me that no, he was just intending to rent that DVD.

Oh I'm terribly sorry, my mind reading skills must be off tonight. Perhaps in the future you could say something to that effect next time just in case my precognitive powers aren't at full strength that day either.

That said, this happens all the bloody time. I void out the sale and prepare to look his happy butt up in the system. Except, he's still just standing there smiling at me like a pithed Care Bear. I'll need the name on the account sir.

So he gives me his first name.

Why in the name of Demeter's Diaper-rash do people always provide their fucking given name when someone is attempting to look them up?! I've yet to ever see a database where people were listed on the basis of their damned first name. Regardless, it isn't even a search option for the system. That's great, but your first name is useless for my purposes.

Appearing as if I have just now revealed some deep and ineffable mystery of the universe, he finally provides me with his last name thereby allowing me to get this show on the road. Bare seconds elapse before I have his account up and the movie added to it, whereupon he wants me to wait for a moment.

Annoying, but again, this shit happens all the bloody time. It's a trivial matter to add more videos for him, provided he's quick in his last second additions.

He trots back to a bit and looks at one of the shelves where he promptly turns toward me and asks "can I rent that one?"

No, you lack the necessary skills to check that movie out. Whichever one of them over there that you happen to be referring to that is. Why do must you insist I can read your mind? Granted it can't be that complex of an organ for you, but I have difficulty puzzling out the phonetic scribblings of a dyslexic with a dull crayon. I have no idea which movie you're asking about, sir.

He makes an apologetic "oh" sound and picks a box up off the rack. "Can I rent this?"

Oh yeah, that made things so much easier. So you're now assuming I have the visual acuity of an eagle? Nice. It's no problem at all for me to identify that five-by-seven inch cover you just waved in my general direction. Not only that, but I've also memorized every last movie that is sale only here in the store including the ones that have multiple copies. I can't tell from here. It should tell you on the label though.

Apparently this was something that required special training so he finally brought it up to the counter. I flip the box over to reveal the store tag. Sale only, so no, it's not available for rent.

That crushed his hopes and dreams. He would be content with the first movie he brought up to rent. He'd just be helpful while his rental slip was being generated by the printer and put the other movie back; three racks and twenty some yards from where he picked it up from minutes before.

I wanted to stab him with the ball-point pen I handed him to sign his damned slip.

Just another Monday

2008-10-20T18:16:00.000-07:00

Verging on verge of "Blah."

Feeling a bit tired.
A low-grade headache.

Add too much caffeine.

We'll be doing just fine...

until the spiders come.

Pay attention to what I say, not what I do

2008-10-17T18:35:00.001-07:00

Why is it that people will immediately deny they are or are doing a particular thing just before they go about doing just that? It seems that no matter what walk of life a person is, they will attempt the preemptive lie.

Does it ever work? In the history of life on this planet, has it even once thrown another off the trail?

"Hey man, I'm not a cheater." "No problem, I'm sure you just happened to trip and fall with your pants off pushing my wife out of her clothes and into a sex swing with your coincidentally condom-clad penis ending up in her vagina. I'm so glad you explained that to me. That could have been so awkward."

"I just wanted to let you know I'm not some sort of junkie or anything." "Oh by all means carry on. I'm sure the needle hanging out of your arm is to treat your diabetes."

"Don't worry dude, I'm not gonna steal nothin'" "Splendid. Wonderful to have such honest citizens patronizing my store. I'll just take a bit of a nap while you innocently see how many cock rings you can fit in your pockets."

If someone wasn't suspicious of their behavior up to that point, they bloody will be now. It takes someone anticipating and planning to be called on something to be primed to immediately plead their specific innocence at first contact with another. In virtually every case, that means that person was engaged in precisely what they are afraid of being accused of. It's like nervously telling yourself over and over not to scream out "Oh yeah mom, take it like a whore!" at the height of passion with your lover. Congratulations, you just sabotaged yourself by guaranteeing your biggest fear was foremost in your mind. You can do the same very easily to someone else.

Don't believe me? I dare you to approach a random stranger and tell them, "Hi, how are you doing? I assure you I have no plans to drug you and chain you in my basement until the voices get too loud and I have to masturbate with the fatty deposits over your kidneys and knit your skin into an afghan."

The cops will be there before the puddle of urine where your new friend was standing cools.

So why is this so wide spread? Is it simply a fatal and exploitable weakness in the human brain to offer an abject denial of reality when caught out? Or is it some nigh universal conditioning that hard-wires the reflex as a valid method of avoiding consequences?

In addition, making three individual trips into the store concluding each time with a request to hold onto some merchandise for your return, just makes me want to taze you unconscious and see how long lack of sleep, uncomfortable body positions and water-boarding will take to make you want to tell me every last sin you've committed past, present, and future.

And now for something completely insipid

2008-10-16T18:32:00.001-07:00

Ahem.

To what ends would someone address the staff of a store telling them they have a great store before, in the same breath and sentence, asking why one part of it sucks? Furthermore, what does it serve them to devote the time to rework the same insult?

What the fucking hell?!

Even with this blog and passing whim on my part, it isn't even worth the expenditure of good sarcasm.

Abandon all hope all ye electronics who enter here

2008-10-15T18:05:00.000-07:00

Despite the nigh-endless tides of people coming into the store needing the concept of "adult video arcade" explained, I will assume that the people who have paused to read here are familiar with it.

As an aspect of business, it does have some very good points to recommend it. It can generate a surprising amount of money in a relatively short span of time with minimal upkeep. A lot of places will push the "minimal upkeep" to the point of toxic waste dump, but it is essentially a stand alone self-sustaining system. A wank garden if you will.

When I have to pay attention to the arcade, most often it's because some of the free-range produce decided to try their hand at being weeds. Most folks would guess that.

The part most would not suspect is that the arcade is a bottom-less technology pit.

If one pauses to think about it, it makes a great deal of sense. If one is going to have a system where many movies are simultaneously playing at the same time in many different rooms, it's going to require a substantial computer, a plethora of movie players, or some amalgam of both.

Regardless of specific set-up, it means there's a cache of hardware humming away in what equates to a dim closet. Machinery in continuous operation from the moment it's plugged in until it's components burn out. And they do. Channels die, video screens flash like supernovas before going dark for the rest of eternity, fuses melt into slag, loaded movies become hopelessly mangled/corrupted.

It's like some technological work camp. The new ones arrive in lots. They're almost always set to their eternal labors immediately. The worn, burned corpses are discarded without a second thought, hoping enough "new bodies" are in the pipeline to keep up.

Welcome to the world of adult video; we push electronics past the point of destruction for your pleasure.

Fun with porn titles

2008-10-14T18:18:00.000-07:00

I can't help but find my attention grabbed by the occasional movie box. To the probable dismay of the leches in the audience, it has never been because I was too overcome with lust to tear my eyes away from the glossy picture. Alas, at this point I am more aware of theme and composition of the cover than who is on it. Thus sometimes a bit of "flavor text" will come leaping to the fore when it pokes a toe beyond the usual "slut-sloppy-whore-etc" crap.

So my brain came to a screeching, cog-wheels-and-springs-flying-everywhere, "Oh the humanity!" derailment when my eyes spied this:

"Fuck that shit like it's hot!"

There was no discernible pause in my brain as far as I was able to determine. There was that split second of the words automatically parsing into my semiconscious and then in the lush backdrop of my imagination I was treated to a show.

"Oh fuck! Oh god!!!" *Anguished keening and sobs* "My cock is burning off! Ow ow ow! Make it stop, dearfuckinggodsKILLME!" *Bacon sizzling sounds counterpointed by inarticulate howls of agony*

/FLASH/

"Dude, I've heard of really loving your shit, but that's above and beyond."

/FLASH/

Two people in full radiation suits going at it and completely voiding the warranties of their Geiger counters.

/FLASH/

"Don't worry about it babe, I've got something much better than the 'pull out' method. Ever hear of the 'fallout' method?"

/FLASH/

"Why settle with a simple 'sword-fight' in the locker room when you can have a lightsaber-fight."

Yeah, I have a hard time suppressing the laughter when I pass that movie on the shelves. Gods help me if I happen to be the one to rent or sell it to a customer, they'll probably think I'm suffering a stroke.

Two tidbits to titter over

2008-10-13T18:10:00.000-07:00

*Ring ring*

Thank you for calling Lanius' Lunchroom for Lazy Librarians.

"Do you have any R-rated movies?"

You have got to be fucking kidding me. You want bloody R-rated movies. So you call an adult video store. Riiiiiiiiiiight. Good thinking sport, because it's so bloody hard to find movies with that rating. Too bad you can't just walk into some local supermarket or department store and pick up a few R-rated titles either. Sweet shivering Shiva on a shingle! If someone buys a movie here that even remotely approaches an R-rating, they're up at the counter demanding their money back because it's too tame! Why don't you call up a car dealership and ask them if they carry Big-Wheels.
Not even close. Too tame too stock.

"Oh."

*Click*

And the bastard actually sounded disappointed. Zombie Jesus wept!

A guy approaches my counter and asks guilelessly, "Do you have any movies with penetration?"

Are you sure you're not taking in carbon dioxide instead of releasing it? Oh pardon, I meant, what sort of flaming pervert are you? Everyone knows that human sexy bits are in no way shape or form capable of supporting any kind of penetration, let alone actually be designed for it.
Are you serious? If you can find any movie out there that doesn't have penetration in it, with the exception of solo male masturbation vids, and I'll sell it to you for half off.
Go away, Zippy. You make my brain hurt.

I don't know if it was the crushing realization he'd just asked a question on par with asking if there was any water in the ocean or the tone of my voice making it clear I find it likely a tub of sour cream enjoys more native cunning than him, but he very meekly found a movie and left.

You've got to be kidding me

2008-10-10T18:31:00.000-07:00

One of the key aspects of retail operations these days is that the vast majority of it is handled through computers. When they are all up and running, amazing and mysterious things can be wrought and all is right with the world™.

The underside of that rock is that it makes the computers and the programs loaded onto them tremendous point source failures.

Let me tell you right now, attempting to conduct a brisk trade in selling, renting out, and checking in movies when the program that you depend on to handle those transactions goes tits up and bloated the moment you ask it to do anything other than load, sucks gelid green gremlin dick.

Gods help us if we can't get it sorted out before the weekend is over or the reams of various notes charting who has what, where, and for how long are going to be decidedly convoluted and time-consuming to sort back out.

*Sigh* This is why I get paid the big bucks. (Why? I have no idea. They don't fit in a wallet and the antlers are fucking sharp. I really need to pay more attention to employment terms.)

Whoever said there are no stupid questions needs to be shot

2008-10-09T18:23:00.000-07:00

Some nights, they just seem to come out of nowhere.

The two young men who wandered in did not appear to be dissimilar to many of the patrons of the store. Once I'd verified they were not in fact minors, I would have predicted they would have wandered around through the store for about twenty minutes. Perhaps they'd succumb to curiosity and take a very brief tour of the toy section, but most of their time and attention would fall on the movies available. I would have predicted they would either purchase a single very good DVD or conclude their visit with a selection of bargain flicks. It's a very typical format for the type of shopper I loosely place them in.

I was taken in by their mimicry. I had mistakenly given them too much credit. Like some odd parody of some small, vulnerable crab that masks its helplessness by adhering bits of seaweed, shells, or coral to its carapace, these guys hid behind a facade of capability.

The more out-going and confident of the duo approaches the counter with a Playboy in hand, which he promptly lifts so I can get a clear view of the cover.

"Do you know if that person is in the magazine?"

It's a distinct likelihood.

"So she's like, inside there, naked?"

Oh hell fucking no! The contents NEVER correlate to the cover. That could only lead to anarchy and madness if people could formulate some idea of what the hell they were buying. No every bloody page is a complete mystery. It could be a car ad. It could be the answer key to a seventh grade English test. It could be phone listings for Butte, Montana circa 1977. Dear gods, imagine the patent absurdity of knowing ahead of time if one is interested in the product! And then to inquire as to a state of undress? Ludicrous to the point of blasphemy! Playboy containing pictures of naked women?! Perish the thought. Everyone knows that the entire Hefner Empire was founded on people so swaddled in clothing layers that it takes a government think-tank to determine if it's potentially a human at the very core. Determination of gender is the most fanciful of science fiction. How ridiculous of you to even ask.

How in Kali's crimson-stained cleavage can you even formulate such an asinine question let alone utter it without your head exploding like a Vesuvius of puss? This is why your mother's night shift as an after-hours sperm bank drop slot was a bad idea. If a girl is on the cover, she sure as fuck is going to appear inside wearing little more than a smile. I know it's a hard concept to grasp, but try to keep up. It's as if it was their "thing", their "gimmick" as it were to deliver on their implied promise printed on the glossy magazine cover. Here's a tip, rigging your microwave to cook with the door open is not the ground-breaking advance you think it is.

No, she got bored and cold in there, and it was a bit cramped, so she got dressed and went home already.

It was so high above his head he'd need a telescope to notice it. He did take a couple seconds of deep thought and consultation with his buddy to decide I had impugned his intelligence however. Without further comment, he very carefully put the magazine back on the wrong rack and left with his counterpart.

Just because there are two half-wits working in concert, it does not add up to a whole person.

Oh joy

2008-10-08T18:42:00.000-07:00

Recipe for a lovely shift at work:

Take one slightly hungry, preoccupied adult store employee.
Add a large Rockstar (or two).
Apply to several multi-stage projects.
Then fold in a generous dollop of clueless knuckle-draggers who need such difficult concepts such as what an arcade is or where the movies might be explained, in detail.
Bring to a full boil with a handful of paranoid gits who behave like you just lodged a cattle prod firmly up their arse and sodomized their dear departed grandmother when asked if one might be able to help them find something.
Garnish liberally with passive-aggressive jibes from previous paranoid gits.

Yield: One snarling, vicious employee lurking behind a moderately blank expression torn between hoping to finish their day without one more belligerent fuckwad "expressing their opinions" and the bloodthirsty wish one will.

I don't know who or what has been pissing into the collective area's corn flakes, but it seems like every customer in the last few days is suffering a biblical plague of nettle dipped hemorrhoids.

I am way too pretty for this shit.

Worse shopping through chemistry

2008-10-07T18:38:00.000-07:00

I have a very marked distaste for intoxicated people coming into the store. By "marked distaste" I mean that it should be perfectly legal to spring over the counters screaming like a scalded leopard to seize them by the throat, beat them ruthlessly into unconsciousness, rifle their pockets for all their cash, and then dump their broken, bleeding carcass by a handy dumpster. For the extremely drunk or stoned, carnage unto death followed by maxing all their debit and credit cards should be allowed. Either you wind up with less drunks and junkies visiting your store or your customers can enjoy one hell of an improv show so I'd consider that a net win. That's entirely setting aside the increased benefits of team building, employee fitness, and high profit margin.

Some might think that a disproportionately harsh stance to take. After all, who are they hurting if they're just a little buzzed or stoned? They should be mellower, more prone to suggestive sales for anything and everything the store might want to move. It's OK, they're "maintaining."

Reality is they are so rarely cruising through with their edge slightly dulled as to be a practical never. Instead, they seem to get all boozed up or spiked up and then decide to check out the good old porn store while they're full sheets to the wind. That is NOT a victimless crime.

Their balance is fucked. They may not be weaving and tripping over themselves, but they'll still try to lean on fixtures or make the odd awkward movement which at a minimum results in picking up knocked over merchandise, but could just as easily culminate in sweeping up broken glass and blood.

If that isn't enough fun on its own, their volume control disconnects. Internal monologues are suddenly running commentaries on par with a schizophrenic horse race announcer. Emotional displays will flare and erupt without notice, much to the delight and comfort of their fellow shoppers.

In addition, whatever shreds of common sense and judgment they might have had fly right out the airlock. Sealed packages must be investigated further, doors must be opened, and blocked off areas must be explored. There's a high enough percentage of functional morons gadding about society as it is, getting them intoxicated just throws them into active demonstration.

However, it's the last facet of them which throws it over the top for me. Their behavior is unpredictable. A great example of this happened not that long ago.

A guy came into the store carrying a framed backpack and muttering to himself. In the space of four feet, he'd changed direction six times and carried himself with a twitchy, jerky manner. It was readily apparent this individual was cranked to the eyeballs. They needed to leave. Not wanting to chase them around, I waited until he seemed to have committed to a general course. He dropped his pack in front of a display case and went out to the parking lot.

About the time I got to his pack, he came back in, ignored me when I tried to get his attention and fidgeted in front of the arcade for a minute. At this point, I was headed back to the front counter and the phone. I had a feeling this might need it.

Moments later, he asked me, with the body language and tones of a five-year-old, if he could use the restroom. I wanted him gone already, like fucking hell I was going to give him the chance to do something sketchy in the bathroom. So I played the odds and said our restroom was reserved for customers only figuring he didn't have a cent to his name.

What do you know, I was right. He sputtered, finally asking me if I wanted him to crap his pants. To which I replied that I didn't care as long as he left the property first.

He stormed out the front door sans backpack so I followed him phone once more in hand to confront him squatting behind the store with his pants around his ankles. I started "dialing" the phone to the police and informed him he needed to get himself and his shit off the premises immediately or the police would be having a chat with him once they arrived. I promptly turned on my heel and went back inside.

The final touch had me waiting not far from his backpack where I captured a stunning photograph of him for our wall of undesirables.

Apparently that was one indignity too many, for he threw down his pack and started wheezing like a bellows. For those who haven't already guessed, he was pumping himself up to "give me the whole can of whoop-ass." Not being entirely without gorm, I knew it was coming and the clumsy hay-maker only managed to snag (and tear) my shirt. He then bravely ran away running as fast as his wasted legs could carry him with his grubbing pack clutched to his chest. I gave chase and briefly considered tackling him, but decided against.

Got to love work days that end with filing a police report. Thank the gods it's actually a rare occurrence.

Incidentally, in case anyone is wondering, the critter was collected.

Following some inborn sense of direction

2008-10-06T18:36:00.000-07:00

Customers are an odd and somewhat mystifying species. Like sea turtles returning to their beaches to laboriously dig nests and deposit their eggs only to all but vanish into the wide oceans otherwise, so too is the adult store patron, clumsily hauling their bulk onto shores festooned with movies, magazines, and novelties to sink their money in the accounts of the store before returning to the unknowns from whence they came.

Earlier today I was treated to one of the inexplicable behavior of one of them. The customer in question has been with us for years. He's a polite, genial individual who is always prompt to keep his rental account up-to-date and paid. In short, we know him on sight and vice versa.

Thus, I was moderately confused when this gentleman, obviously intent on returning his recent rentals, stopped at the counter several yards away from me, as well as the computer where the movies would be checked back in. The computer hasn't moved since he's been a customer. He should know quite well the various steps we take with rentals. However, for some reason he thought it would be more convenient for him to walk the extra dozen feet so I could walk down to where he'd deposited the DVDs and carry them back to where I had been.

Then, after he'd picked out a couple new movies to take home with him, he again stationed himself at the far end of the counter necessitating my walking over to retrieve his choices to carry back to the computer to enter in, then hike back down to where he stood for him to sign the rental agreement and collect payment, journey back to enter in the payment, and finally to trudge back to him with his rentals and change.

It easily doubled his time spent standing at the counter needlessly. I can't even glean some sort of convenience of travel on his part since he took the longest path from door to counter and movie racks to counter possible.

It's times like this I curse the laws that prevent me from collecting research specimens for behavioral studies and physical dissection. Science (and potentially the gene pool) could only benefit from the discoveries it would yield.

A moment out of a shift

2008-10-03T19:35:00.003-07:00

"So how much does a preview cost?"

Previews are five bucks per hour.

"Per hour?"

Indeed.

"How much for the time I'm actually in there?"

It works by blocks of one hour so whether you're in there for one second or sixty minutes, it's going to cost you the same.

He grunts in response.

Who wants to bet he came back after his viewing looking to get his unused time refunded? Anyone?

Aggravation on the hoof

2008-10-02T19:32:00.003-07:00

Late one evening while I was working behind the counter, a group of three young men entered the store. The leader of the group was the eldest, or so I surmised given the percentage of grey in his hair. Subject number two, was taller, quite slender, and had a shock of bushy hair. I doubt a near lightning strike or electrocution could make it worse. The last guy was doing his best to impersonate an urban Jawa. Short, skinny dudes just should not attempt to wear hooded sweatshirts off the rack of the local hip-hop Big-and-Tall store. They rapidly congregated at the front counter to ooh-and-aah over the goodies displayed in the cases.

Until I approached.

The moment I politely asked to see ID, Q-tip and Baggie suddenly found things they had to look at right that very second and oh I'm terribly sorry sir but I didn't hear you ask your question.

Awesome sauce.

However, it wasn't a complete waste of breath on my part. I kept the other two in my field of vision as I checked the license of Mr. "Just-for-Men." Yes indeed, his tonsorial bleaching was a couple decades ahead of the curve. I handed it back to him with a polite demurral that I would be back shortly to help him and made my way directly to where Baggie was poking through the movies.

Once again I requested ID.

No response.

I moved to the other side. The edge of the hood quickly pivoted away from my new position. I wonder if I've somehow won the lottery and gotten saddled with a deaf asshole. Nonetheless, I make another attempt to pry proof of age out of the shambling mass of laundry.

What a surprise, no response yet again.

Patience rapidly fraying despite an iron grip on my professionalism, I loom at his shoulder waiting.

Amazingly, it takes only a minute or so for him to turn and "startle" at seeing me. My immediate request for ID is a great deal more clipped than it had been at the start.

He begins a slow motion pantomime of checking his pockets. I make sure I'm outside of arms reach. Over-sized garments combined with a guy who not only seems unconcerned with compliance and won't make eye contact tend to make me very suspicious. I readied myself in case something unfriendly made a sudden appearance. About two very long minutes later, he's gotten distracted by the bright colors of a porn title.

I'm done. I tell him to take a hike. While he begins to amble in the direction of the door, I close in on the last of them.

This one at least chooses not to play deaf; however he doesn't have his ID on him though he assures me he's twenty-one.

I motion toward the door. No ID, no porn for you. He heads for the door.

In the meantime, Baggie is keeping Snowroof company.

Like fucking hell. I told you to leave. Get the fuck out of my store NOW.

Of course, Snowroof chooses to give the role of peacemaker a shot and asks me why I'm speaking so sharply to his friend, who by the way has not taken the least step toward the door yet. So I snarl back that I'd asked for his ID more than once without him producing it, therefore he was no longer welcome in the store.

For whatever reason, Baggie finally got it through the slime mold between his ears that I meant business and vacated the store. The sole survivor of their shopping group then asked if he could buy a few items.

The purchase seemed to come together way too easily so I knew he was either inebriated just enough to drop a load of cash on impulse buys or shoveling the feces with gusto. Just as I reached the register, he declared he needed to collect a little more cash and would be right back.

Oh joy. Oh rapture. A complete waste of time and carbon.

I didn't even wait for the door to finish closing before I was putting the merchandise back.

Who'da thunk it?

2008-10-01T20:06:00.002-07:00

Here I am again, tapping away at the keyboard. Weird, since I'm sure everyone would have decided this blog was dead. In fact, I had been weighted in that direction myself for a goodly span of time.

I'd gotten caught up in the idea of having to kick out a post of significance every day except the weekends and that turned into a festering annoyance in short order. I'm a man who subscribes to the school of thought that if you're doing something optional and it ceases to be fun, it's outlived its appeal. Thus I stepped away from the keyboard and focused on other things.

That being said, there were reasons I started to write online and those reasons are still extant. Words are perhaps my most often used mechanism to blow off steam. So I'm going to attempt to give this whole venture another whirl without my inner critic climbing my back and hag-riding me into snarling aggravation.

It feels good to be back.

Stereotype to statistic in one simple step

2008-08-08T21:20:00.000-07:00

I was working a late shift the other night when central casting deposited "Generic Flamingly Gay Boy; SoCal edition 1 & 2" at my doorstep. Normally if I'm going to apply a broad archetype to someone I encounter, it's more or less a superficial classification on par with noting color of hair or shirt, it's just enough to distinguish them from the other humans in proximity. This however was so surreal it needed a skinny dude in a dark suit smoking a cigarette and narrating to some hidden camera. It was all there from the frosted hair to short shorts to mincing walks to lisps. Sweet Shaved Shiva's Spandex Sutras! A splinter of my psyche wondered if a "Tom's of Finland" leatherman kick-line was queuing up outside my door for the big finale.

But it was alright. Things like this will happen from time to time working with the public and beyond the amazement factor of getting dealt a queer royal flush in five card stereotype stud, it was irrelevant to doing business.

Then things took a sharp turn into the land of fantastically stupid ideas.

Ladies and gentlemen, it is never and will never be appropriate to suddenly bring your clasped hands up in what would be loosely called a "Weaver stance" and tell the guy behind the counter, "This is a hold-up."

Armed robbery is a very real concern for retail stores. We are not going to assume the speaker is not sincere in what they are saying. We can't afford to. Making a bad guy feel he has to make a point they're serious is a Very Bad Thing.

They were quick to say they were only joking, but what if they'd decided to make that "joke" in the hearing of someone with a concealed handgun who couldn't see their hands were empty? Either someone is going to have to change their pants or someone is going to need a trip in an ambulance, regardless it will involve police reports. Talk about your hilarious knee-slapper of a jest hunh.

Don't walk into an airport and make jokes about crashing planes or bombs. Don't walk into a police station and talk about executing officers. Don't walk into a preschool and make pedophile jokes. And don't walk into a bank or business and make robbery jokes.

I told them that was an incredibly stupid thing to do, but I think full comprehension was beyond their ken. Oh well, if they keep it up, they'll find out just how painful stupidity can be.

An armchair economist with day-glo orange penis

2008-08-07T22:30:00.000-07:00

Indeed the internet is a vividly wild and delirious wilderness rife with voices crying out for a sympathetic ear. Most often all they can handle is a pathetic ear, but hope and delusion springs eternal. Speaking of which, I ran across a singularly insipid tantrum from some sot with a twenty-hour-a-day porn habit and delusions of business acumen.

You can get the full bouquet of his ideological vomit here.

Some heavily edited excepts follow for those unwilling to hold their nose that long.

Problem: The first thing I mentioned was for websites that are feeling the pinch to lower their prices especially in the down economy. Webmasters everywhere are claiming that slow sales is hurting them and that some are even going out of business. <> They fail to realize that their customers today are not as stupid as they once were.
Solution: Quit screwing over your customers. Be straight with them. At least attempt to update information instead of insulting them. How long has Tawney Stone been 19? Umm, since the site started years ago? We are all happy to make money. But seriously, if you don’t provide any updated content, do you honestly expect to retain those customers after they have seen virtually everything on the site? Those webmasters with skills, help out the newbies so that they can do things the right way. Offer your services for free….yeah…I said it, for free. Not all of the time but pro-bono work sometimes has a way of finding more work coming back your way. You never know who will have huge success and one day, you might need a favor as well.

There's only so far you can cut costs before it becomes nonviable. Porn is not pure profit.
Very true, customers are not as stupid as they once were. In many cases that level of mental deficiency would be an improvement. (And before someone goes all high and mighty on me, I am not talking of individuals; I'm talking of the whole. Kiddies, that bell-curve is rolling to the left a bit more every day.)
Why assume they are looking to retain customers? The internet is infinitely mutable which makes it quite cost effective to jump from one project to another. Old sites will still attract paying customers where it's still new. Old customers will have long since looked for the next best thing.
Are you fucking kidding? He not only thinks they should drop their prices because he wants to stretch his allowance a little further, but wants the highly skilled webmasters to donate their time? Obviously this twerp has not the first clue as to how many hours a good webmaster has to put into a project. And to do so in the shiny hopes that it will be remembered or appreciated when it's time to allocate funds later leads to weekend benders of rotgut and self-hangings using their own belt.
And good-luck attempting to appeal to their long-term thinking after you've just said they are money-grubbing thieves interested only in the immediate. Way to go sport.

Oh this one is especially juicy.

Problem: Let’s get one thing straight. You have sex for money. Pure and simple. While I would agree this is an art form, it what it is. The only difference between a porn star and an escort is there is a camera involved.
Solution: <> Give something back to those who pay your bills and I am not talking about the director or producer. They get laid enough. You want to make a difference, try laying one of your fans. <> Do a free shoot once in a while for newbies in the business.

Of course they're having sex for money; it's how they're intending to make a living. Used condoms and half-full bottles of lube are not generally accepted in exchange for goods and services.
Insinuating they are prostitutes with inflated attitudes makes me think he's got a private agenda.
By the way, several porn performers past and present have indeed allowed fans a chance to have sex with them. The caveat here is that the fans had to pony up the cash for the encounter. Methinks he's aiming for more pro bono work.
The performer's body is their livelihood. They fuck anyone on camera for free when that footage is going to be distributed for profit and they've destroyed their worth in the industry. The blow to their personal finances would be catastrophic.

If there is any justice in the universe, his parents will evict him from squatting in his own squalid filth in their basement and the sun will shrivel him like a slug deposited on a salt lick. In any case, the cheezy-poof poisoning has permeated his nerve bundle.

h/t Erosblog

Just don't think about the title

2008-08-06T21:01:00.000-07:00

Puttering around the store not that long ago I ran across a video lurking in the she-male section that just flat out irks me. The title declares it to be "100% Organic She-Males."

I am well fucking aware that porn is complete and utter fantasy fluff. I fully understand that producers will pounce without hesitation on any social trend or cause du jour if they think it will cause the punters to buy more of their product.

That said, how in the copious bowels of Baba Yagga can anyone suspend disbelief far enough to buy into the pretext that any she-male in the videos is "organic" beyond being a viable organism?! It would be one thing if the market was glutted with androids or complex marionettes getting it on for the camera, but we're not at that stage yet. Instead, the theme they are attempting to market is that said "chicks with dicks" are free from chemicals or artificial augmentation.

She-males are without exception altered males. This goes beyond the scope of a killer frock, size twelve stiletto heels, wig, and wide assortment of cosmetics. These are guys who've invested a lot of time and money into feminizing their body while remaining functionally capable as a male. I have no idea what the complete process involved for these performers is, but I'd be astounded if it didn't involve an array of injections and implants. They're about as "organic" as a Twinkie. Nothing wrong if that's what appeals to your appetite, but don't throw a completely impossible label on top.

The worst part is that I know there are people who actually ARE dumb enough to find it plausible.

Dear gods, the things I decide to get tetchy about.

The mystery of the untried knickers

2008-08-04T16:30:00.000-07:00

I noticed something the other day and I am at a loss to explain the phenomena now that I have noted it.

We carry a modest selection of lingerie. The current crop is all neatly packaged up in little cartons and boxes which tend to make it quite convenient for us to arrange on a fixture. Words cannot express how much we like it as merchants when we're provided something that looks nice and also takes up a minimum of volume on the sales floor. In the past, we have also carried some lingerie that had to be displayed on the hanger.

It is that distinction where things have tended toward the perplexing.

We were constantly bombarded with inquiries about trying on various apparel when it was on the hanger. With the cartons, rarely if ever do we get asked if it can be tried on.

One might suggest at first that maybe it's just as simple as people don't feel as much need to get their grubby hands on items in a box as they are when it's much more exposed. Unfortunately, people tend to devote a lot of time and effort into poking a questing finger inside the goody box. Sadly, that pretty much explains every sexual problem and the motivation for a lot of relationships. That however, is a tangent for another day. In this case, it seems the lingerie falls outside the normal trends.

A second theory would be that people seeing something is labeled as "One Size Fits Most" or "Queen" have gained enough information from that to preclude the desire to see if they do in fact fall into the category of "most." Again, it fails to hold up to critical examination. I have sold many bits of intimate apparel with the ominous "O/S" tag. People asked to try them on just as often as the more usual small/medium/large labeled garments.

Perhaps the answer may lie in the combination of the two factors, except both are quite common in selling hosiery. To my knowledge, I don't believe any store allows patrons to try hose on; however that does not mean we do not get requests to do just that. Therefore, if someone wants to give a pair of thigh-high fishnets a test strut, why would they pause to blink before making the same request for items that are a bit more usual for investigating the fit? It doesn't add up.

Shoppers are predictable; they conform to general modes of behavior and thought. So far, this falls outside that scope. It's bloody weird.

Chum by happenstance

2008-07-31T22:04:00.000-07:00

Rather uninspiring day for writing today.

Other than having a guy follow me around the store for a couple hours in some pathetic mockery of socializing, things have been nicely routine around here. That isn't to imply things have been deadly dull here, for this is very much a business that as soon as you declare you are bored, will oblige you with a pick-up truck careening through the front window or someone who managed to beat the odds and suffer a freak penis pump accident. Personally, the novelty of the moment generally does not outweigh the headaches that go right along with them, so I try not to invite them any more than I must.

On the related tangent and previously mentioned, I picked up a "remora shopper." As implied they suck and although somewhat parasitic are generally benign. The only practical way to deal with this variety of creature is to employ a liberal campaign of smiling, nodding, and dead-end replies when feedback is solicited. It's considered uncouth in this country to set to with a bamboo cane about the nuisance's head and shoulders, therefore, one has to wait for them to disengage on their own. If they have to exert all the effort in hanging around, their enthusiasm will almost invariably wane.

Why these people come into being, I can only guess. How bleak must one's life be, how bereft of human contact, when they must attempt to flog the faintest echoes of friendship from some random staff member?

Successive blows to the head would be much kinder in the long run.

When you've staked it, beheaded it, and then reduced it to ashes, do not go back to poke it with a stick

2008-07-30T21:30:00.001-07:00

I was reading around a bit and discovered a blog entry that agitated me enough I decided I must remark upon the subject myself. The pertinent aspects of the situation are thus:

An unexpected communication from someone they were aware of peripherally at a distance many years ago and for a brief duration.
The reason pertained to information about an ex of many years ago.
Said ex was the bond of commonality between the two people as that person was reputedly one of the worst relationships either had to misfortune to stumble across.
Various bits of gossip pertaining to the ex were related.
In conclusion, there was a possibly rhetorical pondering of what might or should be done in light of the new information.

Why in the name of Odin's pelt panties do they care?!

This sort of thing has happened all too often in my past and amongst my friends. Some wretched excuse of a human who was once a prime participant to a hideously unhealthy and bitter relationship will resurface somewhere and abruptly everyone acquainted with the situation or a similar dating experience must be brought up to speed.

Why the bloody fuck is this necessary?

This is not a "good" ex, someone you parted on reasonably good terms with. This is not someone you're going to want to stop and chat with. There is no shred of friendship or amicable feelings that have persisted past the break-up.

If they have been out of someone's life for several months, if not years, that should be a good indication they are not high on the list of possible topics. Popping up out of the blue to kibitz about that ex is utterly absurd.

If that particular ex was known for wild distortions of the truth and self-aggrandizement, why give credence to anything heard from them? Why the fuzzy fuck isn't this shit going in one ear and out the other at the very most?

Here's a hard-won hint for personal happiness; leave the horrid crap (people and situations) that are over and done with in the damned past. It isn't relevant anymore. The only things dragging them to the fore will bring out are pain and drama.

The person who contacted the blogger about this should have been bitch-slapped for acting like a fucking ninny.

Suspicion

2008-07-28T16:25:00.000-07:00

Sometimes it really doesn't pay to have both a very active imagination and rampant distrust of one's fellow man.

Had a guy come in and buy out entire floor stock of unlubricated condoms.

Sure. Perhaps he was stocking up for a Caligula-cotillion with an impressive lube buffet complete with hot and cold running decontamination shower.

However, I feel a bit "mulish" on the subject, especially when he paid by peeling twenties off a fat bundle.

Here's hoping for a nasty case of acid reflux.

Porn is bloody disturbing sometimes

2008-07-25T18:45:00.000-07:00

Some time ago, I discovered a novel little page where some deranged maniac decided the internet really needed a list, or text-based freak show if you will, of the adult industry's spawn. Jared aptly titles it "Pornographic Nightmare Fuel."

It can be found beyond this link.

For someone like me who spends a significant portion of his work week in the world that pants forgot, the list has become almost a morbid scavenger hunt list. More often than I would have imagined have I located one of his infamous subjects lurking innocuously upon the shelves in the hopes someone unsuspecting would take it home. In a couple of cases, they have tended to be popular purchases. I refuse to speculate on why any given movie listed would top someone's "must-have-this!" list, I'm more than happy enough to ring up their purchase.

As an aside, he does make a good point at the beginning. It truly can be great fun to sit back and heckle the film MST3K-style or run your own soundtrack to the action. Perhaps if I get truly ambitious I will select a movie at random and splice together Mike Rowe's voice to run along with it to make my very own extra special episode of "Dirty Jobs."

Imagine if he tried out the profession of fluffer. Dirty job or deadliest catch? Only the clinic knows for sure.

Right. As if there was any doubt I am overdue for the weekend.

Keep your nose out of it

2008-07-24T19:40:00.002-07:00

Almost immediately upon logging onto the computer today, I discovered a message from a friend who simply had to share a link with me. Ah Jezebel, once again I find my awareness expanding from your influence. Much like a knot forming on the back of the skull from getting koshed in this case.

"When your man keeps coming home at 5am, and you don't believe a word he says about his whereabouts, snooping through his email and reading his texts aren't always the most reliable methods of figuring out where he's been. Sometimes you just gotta smell his dick!"

The whole page as well as embedded video can be found here.

Hell fucking no. Nein! Nyet!

I don't know about the rest of the world, but I find that more than a bit creepy. It would be one thing if sniffing crotches happened to be a particular fetish, it's an aspect of their sexuality you either accept or reject, but Sweet shivering Shiva on a sybian, it's an entirely different matter when used to confirm alibi.

I don't care if it would be a quick and essentially easy way to determine if the quill has been investigating new inkwells, some woman demanding I drop my drawers so she can waft my willy because she's by god going to see if I've been dallying on the side is definitely crossing a line that shall not be crossed. What's the next step, a hidden camera in the bathroom to verify no one is diddling themselves in the shower or drinking out of the toilet bowl?! How about soaking their used underwear in distilled water and then spinning the solution down to make sure only the acceptable DNA sources are present?!

You either trust someone or you don't. This chick is breaking new ground in the obsessive psycho girlfriend department. First she wants to sniff the schlong when she's insecure, next she's merrily boiling bunny rabbits to crucify on the front door.

Voices carry

2008-07-23T21:06:00.000-07:00

More and more it appears that shoppers believe their conversations can only be heard by the person(s) they are speaking to as if purely out of convenience their voices shift to a register only discernible to each other and certain species of nocturnal animals.

Fewer groups seem to make any effort to modulate their volume to a discrete level. Indeed some give every indication that as a side-line to selling porn movies and novelties we stress test jet engines and host immense raves necessitating shouting to be heard by the person standing six inches away.

Those who have not experienced it can scarcely comprehend the impact of being subjected to some stranger elaborating in detail about their experiences with fisting or how their extremely hush-hush affair is progressing on the opposite side of the store. In addition, they choose to believe their discourse is limited to their own ears despite being at a volume that not only carries over a couple thousand square feet, various fixtures, other customers, and the in-store music system.

They must because they are shocked, affronted, and or embarrassed when a staff member approaches them and ever so gently cautions that they can be heard many feet away or directs them to a section devoted to the fetish that was their most recent topic of interested conversation.

More than once I have been informed brusquely that it's incredibly rude to eavesdrop on private conversations, especially in an adult store. More than once, I have replied that any assumptions they might have been laboring under as to who is privy to their words became erroneous the moment I could hear them four aisles distant without any intent. Provide me with no recourse except fleeing the store to avoid hearing how your last anal plug fractured during your last vigorous tryst leading to adventures in novice proctology with a pair of barbeque tongs and I'm going to assume you want to share this anecdote with the world whether they will or no. Damn skippy I'm going to remark upon it.

On a slightly related note, ever notice a correlation between how loud someone insists on being in public and how hideously stupid they are? Emptier the head, the more strenuously they vocalize. It's one of the reasons I loathe public transportation.

A not so stiff jolt of culture shock

2008-07-22T20:30:00.001-07:00

So I have a guy approach the counter. I'm guessing he thought he was a seriously snappy dresser in his satin button-down shirt, sharkskin slacks and those square-toed leather flippers that folks seem to equate with dressy shoes. Something between his chosen attire and personal carriage writ "European" large across my initial impression. I wondered if he would indeed have an accent or if my deductive skills had failed me.

He had a European accent, but more importantly he had a shopping goal.

He'd toddled down to the local adult store to secure himself a supply of Levitra.

I looked around quickly in case a fully stocked pharmacy had sprung up in the store like some strange mushroom after a storm. Alas, no heretofore undiscovered alcove of syrups and pills lorded over by white coated people who spend way too much time counting small objects over and over again appeared before my eyes.

Gently, I informed him that was not something we would have in stock.

That was alright, he would take a different brand.

Once again, I explained that we were not a pharmacy and therefore did not have any prescription only drugs. He would have to visit a druggist with his doctor's scrip in hand.

He blinked at me as if I had presented him with a lime green, pole-dancing two-headed calf. What the bloody blazes was I trying to pull? This an adult store, therefore we have to have such products. He attempts to reason with me. I am told that another place not too far distant is selling Viagra.

First of all, BULL-FROTHY-FUCKING-SHIT!!! I'd sooner believe they were peddling black tar heroin out of the back of the store than attempting to dispense regulated medications illegally. Second, if that store really has lost all sense of self-preservation, get thee hence to yon shoppe post haste! Godspeed with your dalliances in the black market.

Regardless, he was disinterested in what pills and elixirs we did carry. He wanted medical grade pencil buttress stuff.

I shall extend the benefit of the doubt toward "He of the Shiny Clothing" that he was not in fact bright as a burned-out penlight, but instead was still somewhat unaware of the full differences between the laws and merchants of his former country and this one.

A "good hair day" on a Monday?!

2008-07-21T14:03:00.000-07:00

There is something almost magical in passing contact with another person. The interaction of only a second can leave its impact for hours like the metaphoric butterfly fluttering its wings. At the same time, a dialogue of many minutes might slip out of mind almost the moment it concludes leaving as much of a mark as a marshmallow thrown against polished granite.

I'm in too good a mood today to devote much in the way of words toward the negative or destructive repercussions of chance meetings.

Instead, I feel like standing in amused astonishment of unexpected day brighteners.

Someone out of the blue remarking that you have really pretty hair. An email from a penpal you haven't heard from in months. Any one of a million ways humans flirt in passing.

So if there's perhaps a little more spring in my step as I put out the newest shipment of cock rings, it might be the fault of a pretty girl on the other side of the world gleeful to rediscover my email address and catch up. Or perhaps that of a young lady who graced me with a warmer smile when she caught my eyes passing by in the store. Or it might have been the affectionate kiss of a wonderful woman before departing for work.

Any or all, I'm definitely not going to bitch about my day so far.

Just a hint

2008-07-18T19:55:00.000-07:00

If the first thing out of your mouth when you come in is, "Don't touch anything," at a scant notch below a bellow, you will be putting the wrong foot forward.

If you repeatedly tell your companions, "Remember, don't touch the walls," again at a volume guaranteed to carry through the entire building, you will have pissed off the store staff. In addition, you've probably offended most of the patrons of the store as well.

It was a good thing our janitorial staff had already left by that point or they probably would have been challenged to pistols at dawn.

It ain't just the guys

2008-07-17T20:40:00.001-07:00

Had a girl come in the other day. She was of legal age to enter, but I fear she has a few more years worth of maturing to accomplish at the barest minimum. Allegedly she'd never been in an adult store before in her life, or so her companions led me to understand. Frankly, I'm leaning toward believing that. That chippy was in dire need of getting her sexual illusions punctured and her high horse of naivety and condescension sent to the glue factory.

I can understand how a full color glossy picture of a very busty woman encased in bright colored latex and wasp-waist corset might be a bit startling for the unprepared. It is a bold fashion statement after all. I can almost forgive the "Holy shit!" that was uttered.

I'm less inclined to dismiss shock and frenzy she felt the need to express upon seeing blowjob oriented videos. Give me a fucking break you prissy little bitch. Not everyone in the world is of the opinion that boy bits are dirty and shall never come anywhere near their mouth. In fact, if that is your honest opinion (And I maintain a level of dubiousness here, could it be the lady doth protest too much?) you're in the minority and no one says you have to ever do it. Regardless, oral sex is bloody mainstream to the point of vanilla fare. No one capable of tying their own shoe laces and past puberty should find the concept of oragenital contact earth shattering.

Quite honestly, I was waiting for her to discover the masturbation videos to see if that would blow her mind even further. Who would have ever thought people might actually use their hands or toys in order to elicit an orgasm?

People that sheltered are damned scary.

But she zig-zagged on me seeing the pocket pussies instead of further investigating the movies. This, this violently stripped a handful of petals from the rose of her innocence. She had to ask incredulously if people actually bought fake vaginas. Dear gods, why would anyone want such a thing? I don't know, Sister Chastity, maybe because unlike you, they're worth fucking? I told her probably for the same reasons people buy vibrators and dildoes; enjoyment of their sexuality. That shut her up. Or perhaps it was that I replied with the same look and tone reserved for people who ask if ice is cold or when the park service turns the geysers on.

She was a veritable font of offensively stupid faux pas.

If she never sets foot in a porn store again, I don't think the industry would take it as a loss. I think whoever might have the misfortune to date her would find it healthier for their sex life to punch themselves in the crotch vigorously until losing consciousness.

But because I couldn't resist ending today's segment without something uniquely off, I give you

GORBACHOV: THE MUSIC VIDEO - BIGGER AND RUSSIANER from Tom Stern on Vimeo.

Я провел мой Perestroyka на водку и шлюх.

Good manners always show

2008-07-16T19:40:00.000-07:00

Thank you. It is always such an undeniable pleasure to wait on customers like you. From the moment you tried to interject yourself into my immediate attention while I was in the process of ringing up another customer until you finally shuffled out of my front door, you were a complete joy.

I can completely understand how you would know I was hanging on the edge of my seat to set you on your way with your purchases. All you had to do was shoulder aside the gentleman already standing at the counter handing me his credit card. Indeed, it was your turn to be helped, no question. I'm sure the look of daggers he directed your way was simply jealousy for your graceful and considerate nature.

I know you were the absolute picture of solicitousness when I asked you to wait because I inexplicably found it necessary to complete the transaction of the lout who so rudely cut you off at the last second by bringing his items to the register five minutes ahead of you.

By all means, it was no bother at all when after you inform me you're ready to go after that guy and have handed me your items you spend the next twenty minutes ambling around the store. I appreciate your respect for your fellow customers shown by tying up my register. I am truly grateful for your understanding that there is nothing else for me to do here at work than remain poised for you to decide you are indeed through shopping for the day.

I am certain the other customers were not inconvenienced or annoyed in the least by you reasserting your transaction dominance while I was forced kicking and screaming from my place holding your ticket open upon your whim. The temerity of them to have discrete questions and specifically brief needs for assistance. Fortunately, you were there to make your own requests every single time someone else started talking to me.

It was with the deepest and bitterest of regrets that I handed you your bag of goodies knowing that our time together was at a close.

It is my fervent hope that I can pay you back several times over for those bountiful joys you brought me on your visit here on some dark night when the nearest possible witness is many miles distant and your shrieks of happiness will reach no ears but my own.

Stupid and gross go hand in hand

2008-07-15T19:40:00.000-07:00

I watch the young man make his slow, directionless progress through the sales floor. With deliberate gravity, he would select a movie off the shelves to examine for a handful of minutes before placing it back on the shelf in the general vicinity of where it had been.

Quite obviously, someone who seems bent on creating a mess for others to clean up without any fiduciary benefit to the store is going to find them high on the list of things that need to be dealt with as soon as humanly possible. Therefore, I approached him, pausing only to put back into order the shelves he'd turned his attentions to on my way. The closer I get, the younger the details of his appearance become.

My initial greeting segued from a solicitous inquiry on whether he was finding everything without difficulty into an immediate polite request to provide ID.

It was a request he could not comply with.

Of course he'd say he "forgot his license" with all the believability the quotes would confer to his statement. On the bright side, I had conclusively ended the guerrilla reorganization he'd been authoring of the DVDs. I informed him with a touch of regret that without ID I was forced to have him vacate the premises.

He countered with a request to use the rest room.

No, I just told you that you're not legally allowed to be here. The bathroom is still "here." Therefore, you aren't legally allowed to use our restroom.

Moments after he passes the front door, he whips it out and takes a whiz in the middle of our parking lot.

Too bad there was not a police officer passing by right then, because yelling at the moron didn't feel at all adequate to what he had coming for pulling that stunt.

Engines to full.

2008-07-14T12:00:00.000-07:00

I've kept silent long enough.

The dry spell is no over barring the computer exploding or something equally catastrophic. Contrary to popular opinion there is no "Festival of the Running of the Pervs."

On the other hand, depending upon your overall impressions of the French, Bastille Day might come close enough. And before someone trolling the web looking for something to twist their knickers into macramé leaps upon that statement to say I'm picking on the wonderful frogs on their day of casting away their corrupt monarchy, check into the fun and frolics refined by the Libertines.

For me, this is more of a "Bastinado Day."

Time to beat some feet.

on hiatus

2008-06-23T12:33:00.001-07:00

I'll be back in a few days I think.

I now return you to your normal blog musings.

Have fun.

Metallic Monday

2008-06-16T14:46:00.003-07:00

For whatever reason, I jolted awake after three and a half hours of slumber with all the commensurate degrees of restfulness and relaxation. Further sleep proved impossible.

Then one of the four-legged terrorists unscrupulously referred to as "pets" in polite company decided to impress me with a demonstration of how efficient their digestive system is when they throw it into emergency reverse. For additional style points, this would be in an all but pitch black room and the only clues they have provided is a general direction and "close".

In addition, I have either contracted a lazy strain of summer flu bug, or succumbed to some pollen allergy leaving me with sinuses clogged to annoyance level and a slightly scratchy throat.

Therefore, I am in a fantastic mood to be at work. Fortunately, the customers have been almost angelic in conduct today. They're up to something, but damned if I can work up the venom to pry open that gift horse's mouth.

Before I return to sating my black mood with more bitter, high-energy music, I thought I would leave you with some lyrics that somehow seem to tie into the retail adult business.

I wish I had an angel

For one moment of love

I wish I had your angel

tonight

Deep into a dying day

I took a step outside an innocent heart

Prepare to hate me fall when I may

This night will hurt you like never before

Old loves they die hard

Old lies they die harder

I wish I had an angel

For one moment of love

I wish I had your angel

Your Virgin Mary undone

I`m in love with my lust

Burning angel wings to dust

I wish I had your angel tonight

I'm going down so frail and cruel

Drunken disguise changes all the rules

Old loves they die hard

Old lies they die harder

I wish I had an angel

For one moment of love

I wish I had your angel

Your Virgin Mary undone

I`m in love with my lust

Burning angel wings to dust

I wish I had your angel tonight

Greatest thrill

Not to kill

But to have the prize of the night

Hypocrite

Wannabe friend

13th disciple who betrayed me for nothing!

Last dance, first kiss

Your touch, my bliss

Beauty always comes with dark thoughts

I wish I had an angel

For one moment of love

I wish I had your angel

Your Virgin Mary undone

I`m in love with my lust

Burning angel wings to dust

I wish I had your angel tonight

I wish I had an angel

I wish I had an angel

I wish I had an angel

I wish I had an angel - Nightwish, "I wish I had an angel"

I want a Claritin, a sword, and some naproxin.

Friday the 13th

2008-06-13T20:36:00.000-07:00

The world shall never know how much force of will to required not to stride into work wearing a flannel shirt, jeans, work boots, and hockey mask. Of course, the machete goes with me everywhere.

A headache that I awoke to nibbling on the verges of my neurons has continued to linger despite taking a pot-shot at it with some otc pain relievers. By the laws of the universe, that means someone is going to cross my path that I'd struggle with not strangling to death with their own viscera even if I wasn't already feeling somewhat annoyed and impatient.

On a more work related front, we've yanked all of our current skin mags. I honestly don't know how those publishers manage to stay in business. The margin on current issues is abysmal and most people tend to prefer scooping up past issues for a fraction of the cover price.

Now if you'll excuse me I have to chide some counselors out at Crystal Lake.

Buffet for baby

2008-06-12T21:50:00.000-07:00

Read a small news study today while running errands that claimed that British researchers had discovered what looks to be a correlation between eating breakfast and gender of child amongst women looking to conceive. Read for yourself if you desire.

Not the best sample size, high margin of error depending on people to be truthful in their reporting, and only a modest difference in percentages. Not only that, but lacking a "control" group, it makes it highly subjective as to interpretation of statistical significance.

What would interest me more would be if they could explain how this gender sorting might be accomplished, since gender is determined by the sperm that invades the ova. It doesn't seem likely that we're like sea turtles or crocodiles where our gender is fixed by what temperature we're baked at. The coding is locked from the outset.

So, does a high caloric diet affect vaginal secretions to become more favorable for the genetically lighter male swimmers and less so for the female wrigglers? Is there some heretofore unknown enzyme at play that shifts the protein coat on mature ova to favor one type over the other? Or is it simpler than that and the uterus just tends to slough off implanted male embryos at a higher rate than female unless a certain nutritional benchmark keeps getting met?

Or maybe they just want to justify stuffing pastries and rich foods down women's gullets.

Dopes spring eternal

2008-06-11T21:40:00.002-07:00

Not too long ago, I was closing down the store for the night and also happened to be behind schedule. It was well past the time when I should have been homeward bound with a well-deserved satisfaction of spreading more implements for naughtiness into the community.

Suffice to say, I was quite focused on the tasks still before me when there was a knock upon the door. Initially I ignored it on the assumption they would eventually interpret the expired hours of operation, unlit open sign, and locked door to mean we might be closed.

No such luck. They keep knocking loudly, so I approach the door before they decide to bring in a battering ram.

Predictably the very first thing the dolt on the other side of the portal yelled through the door was whether we were closed yet. I managed to swallow back my very detailed assessment of his deductive reasoning just in time, instead opting for the more civil "for over half an hour."

Apparently this sparked in the vast wasteland between his ears as an invitation for further business. Wouldn't I just sell him a pocket pussy real quick? It wouldn't take that long. He'd hand me the money right there.

It was a foreign concept for him that when a store is closed, especially for that long, every-bloody-thing gets shut down. The end of day reports have been run, the drawer is closed, the money is locked away. The moment of last minute shopping has fled a long time ago. Sucks to be you, sport. Try tomorrow after we open. Have a good night, thankyouverymuch. Bugger off you noisome little hobgoblin.

It takes a special kind of talent

2008-06-10T20:23:00.000-07:00

So last night a comment appeared on my latest post.

"I wanted to know if by any chance you would be interested in doing an unbiased review of our product.

If you agree we will send you a product sample so that you can try it and then write a review about it.

Please let me know if you are interested.

Thank you"

Talk about your instances of utterly useless spam.

They decided to make a comment as opposed to email me, always a sure way to impress me.
No clue as to who "they" are. I can only assume their alleged product is somehow related to the adult industry.
Utterly failed to provide contact information. "Erin," the supposed author, is to a locked profile. Call me insane, but if one is going to invite a reply, one should provide the required information so it's possible.

Pray tell me how their "comment" served any purpose but to annoy.

Too much time on their hands?

2008-06-09T12:05:00.000-07:00

I find it requires a horrifying degree of willpower to keep from wondering about some customers. I should take this moment to reassure all and sundry that my mind has not decided to delve into dark, disturbing speculations pertaining to the intimate activities of the patronage. That route leads to madness, uncontrollable facial tics, and a three digit weekly anti-nausea medicine habit. Of course, if she should happen to be especially fetching, exceptions can be made for the sake personal morale.

Instead, I am referring to those individuals who will spend substantial spans of time within the arcade. Unlike the habitual campers or lurkers who devote themselves to quietly occupying rooms without spending any money and who get sent on their merry way as soon as they are detected by the staff, these guys (it's predominantly a male pastime) will keep their booth operating the entire duration of their visit. Quite often, these visits will last for a couple of hours, though it is not unheard of for some to extend for an entire work shift. On a couple occasions, someone has stayed watching movies for nigh on sixteen hours, venturing out only for restroom breaks.

These people do not socialize. They do their viewing alone and folks aren't coming in to knock on their door, so they aren't dealing drugs or establishing a temporary pimp headquarters out of our arcade. And yet their clothing is of good quality and clean which tends to rule out vagrants. Especially so when one takes into account that investing significant time in the arcade booths requires an equally significant investment of cash. I don't know about where other people live, but the homeless here are typically not flush with money.

Therefore, I find these individuals puzzling. If they don't have a job, why are they here for so long? One can stretch a dollar much further someplace else. If they are employed, what position would allow them to average two to four hours buying movies by the minute, let alone be an affordable option? If they're drawing a retirement pension, why is the observed median age around forty?

More importantly, how can they endure multiple hours of non-stop pornography? It isn't as if they're shot to provide compelling drama or sweeping plot lines. You'd think someone would hit saturation at some point much sooner, arrive at a state where it melts into a generic mélange of moist fleshy bits moving in meaty holes.

Truly, I find this passing most strange.

Losing time

2008-06-09T10:41:00.001-07:00

In more than one way.

Last minute travel sucks immense, shaggy sloth schwanz.

Glad it's over though.

Wishing doesn't make it so

2008-06-04T21:49:00.002-07:00

Previously I wrote this. This would be stage two, or as I like to think of it, throwing my metaphoric bucket of ice water on the petulant sots who want to make all the evil porn go away.

Why would I say such a thing? Quite simply, it is impossible without extensive tampering with humanity.

To begin with, there's money to be made. Huge volumes of cash are generated in the adult industry. Unless and until pornography becomes unprofitable or irrelevant, it is going to be an attractive venture. Even if every country on the globe suffered a collective stroke and banned the production, sale, and possession of sexually explicit materials, there would still be porn. Granted the industry would go underground, but just like booze during Prohibition and recreational drugs, it would persist as a lucrative trade. In fact, it would probably become even more profitable on an item-by-item basis from being made illegal.

If that wasn't enough, there is such a thing as the internet. Anything that hits the net is pretty much preserved for functional eternity. Some forgotten server will have a copy. Billions of people are constantly uploading and downloading information at any given moment. Gods only know how many computers or storage media exist at any given instant containing pornography. Songs such as "The Internet is for Porn" were written as a consequence of how pervasively the industry has saturated the internet.

And this brings me to my ultimate point; humans enjoy seeing, hearing, imagining sex. Even if no one ever made a cent off of pornography, it would be organically generated anyway. Hell, that's probably where it started in the first place. Ugg happened to stumble across Ogg making the "mammoth with two humps" with Mag and grew aroused. Since he couldn't always hope to find Ogg and Mag rutting away when he wanted inspiration, he probably started painting what he'd seen. In time, others noted his artistic talents and started offering him gifts so they can get some of his paintings for themselves. Congrats, humanity has just invented the porn industry.
Sexually erotic media has followed along at every stage of civilization. Examples have been uncovered all over the world in archeological sites.

With how consistent pornography through history and civilizations, I'd hazard it's hard-wired into our genome. There is a species-wide preoccupation with sex. Therefore, one would have to excise sexual drive out of Homo sapiens before pornography would wither into history. On a related note, that would probably also be the end of humans as a viable organism.

That is the cost of ending pornography; extinction through attrition.

Now shut your bleedin' gob about how it needs to be stopped and find something more productive with your time like lobbying to prevent the sun from releasing UV wave lengths.

Damn it!

2008-06-03T19:47:00.002-07:00

Events entirely outside of my control decided I was due for an emotional body-slam.

Part two will be finished once I get my equilibrium back.

Don't hate the hater, mock them instead

2008-06-02T17:55:00.000-07:00

It is inevitable when one not only merchants pornographic materials but also maintains an online presence that persons and sites of a decidedly anti-porn flavor will cross one's path with some regularity. It's much like ideological fiber in the alimentary tract of reason; indigestible, serves only to keep fecal matter flowing, and some people get entirely too wound up on the subject. Porn might be a near equivalent of a triple-processed sugar sponge saturated with sweet lard and pure cocaine, but that doesn't mean anyone needs a triple scoop of shame-flavored Metamucil either.

Should anyone actually suffer the morbid curiosity to find such a resource, they would most likely find the usual arguments against.

It objectifies and/or dehumanizes women.
People get damaged by it.
It's morally wrong.

Therefore, the only solution is to utterly ban pornography and eradicate all existing examples.

Excuse me while I finish pointing and laughing derisively at their pitifully puerile "solution" arrived at by hopelessly nebulous "arguments." It's a good start on a passive-aggressive guilt trip, but nowhere near a logical construct.

Let's tear into this bloated bubble of self-aggrandizing whimsy then shall we.

"It objectifies and/or dehumanizes women." Right. Forget the men, we all know they aren't people anyway. Or perhaps the assumption is that males are somehow better equipped to handle the material. Regardless of oversight or intent, the impression is that it's the women who are what's important to protect. Sorry, but I'm not comfortable with double-standards. Either your point encompasses everyone or I want to know exactly why you feel the need for the distinction. By the way, neither of those actions automatically validates the statement either.

However, let us for the moment assume they are being all-inclusive. It's all fixed now right? We can go charging off to tilt this menacing windmill of social injustice now? Settle down there, Sparky. I'd like someone to point out to me what profession exists that does not in some manner dehumanize or objectify those it employs. For example, I am a retail management minion. Am I a person to my customers? Not entirely. I am just that guy who rings up their stuff, makes change, and answers questions. Sometimes I'm that fucking asshole who gets in the way of their self-expression when they no longer think the rules apply to them. It's the same as any other store. The faces over the register change, but largely, we are just a part of the furniture. People working a switchboard are merely more user-interactive voices over the phone. Models are nothing but a marketable image. The list is infinite.

But, they're being all sexual and naked and that makes it all different. I see. So anyone employed doing something that gives you a chubby is somehow more damaging to their sense of self than a daily grind in a "cube farm" or working fast food? I guarantee a stripper quitting is remarked upon much more than "Doug? Dave? Dale? That guy who used to hum along to his iPod, you know who I'm talking about right?"

"People get damaged by it." What else is fucking new? Bike couriers eat pavement or car fenders. Miners get caught in cave-ins, explosive blasts, and inhale nasty shit in the dust. Office assistants get carpal tunnel. Everything you do has associated wear-and-tear and that is only the physical. You want to ban air traffic control personnel because the high stress leads to burn-out, suicide, and other stress related outcomes? Just because there are risks and consequences involved, it doesn't make a case of itself. Otherwise, you might as well push to ban professional sports given how much competing at that level takes out of the body.

"It's morally wrong." That entirely depends upon your moral standpoint. Just because you or a certain percentage of humanity find something repugnant, it does not automatically invalidate the moral standpoint of everyone else who does not share your own. Even if predicated upon some religious text, it remains a subjective verdict and unless one happens to live in a theocracy, it's insufficient to serve as an argument against societal aspects.

Pretty much all of the above boils down to, "I don't like it." I don't care if you do or not. Bugger off and do your own thing and get over the fact some people do like it.

To be continued.

Load up

2008-05-30T19:31:00.001-07:00

Sweet Shiva on a strap-on! They've now come up with a pill that purports to increase the volume of a man's ejaculate.

I would ask why, but I know all too well that there is a percentage of humanity who either have a yen for copious servings of semen or believe that the more volume they can evacuate out their schwanz correlates to increased manliness. I can live with that. Whatever makes them happy and all that. Hell, in this case, it even provides me with another opportunity to make a buck off them.

On the other hand, it's a flat-out scam. I have yet to see any scientific documentation to suggest that the prostate can be chemically stimulated to release more fluid. The testes don't contribute much to volume. Sperm is pretty much an active ingredient in much the same way as yeast in bread dough.

Of course I could also just be lagging on my informational uptake and these pills truly will turn a man's spritzer into rupturing fire-hose. Maybe it's just me but it that theory is true, that sounds like it might cause the prostate to consequently increase in size to provide the added volume and aren't there already some negatives for having an enlarged prostate?

Ah the things people will risk or believe for the sake of vanity.

I just find it sad how easy it is to sell people on scams. Not enough to make me hesitate to fill their bag with a couple bills worth of snake-oil pills, but it does make me more contemptuous of my fellow man.

Perfect for use with a Jimi hat

2008-05-29T19:18:00.000-07:00

In case you hadn't heard, the newest participant in the celebrity sex video collection is doing so posthumously. Reportedly Jimi Hendrix in all his unclothed glory is available for your entertainment/titillation/review.

That translates to a DVD dubbed off of stock footage allegedly sitting in a dark corner of someone's storage gathering dust for decades. Image degradation, sound distortion, and other artifacts of age are of course very prominent though I'm sure they've been "remastered" and "retouched." Supposedly experts have proclaimed that it is definitely Mr. Hendrix in the footage getting it on all along the watchtower and blowing his not-so purple haze onto the person of his anonymous partner. Whether or not you find them credible is your choice.

I do find it very convenient that the big name draw is not around to confirm or deny his participation. It's not like people would actually stoop to plastering a celebrity's identity as blatantly and universally as possible to make a quick buck.

Stay tuned until next year when we might be treated to "John Wayne; Cum along Li'l Doggie Style" or "Janis Joplin's Juicy Groupie Gropes." I'll be the guy behind the counter with the bleeding eyes.

A good cup size?

2008-05-28T19:42:00.000-07:00

I run across enough "naughty" food type items as it is, from penis pasta to chocolate pussies, nipple mints to gummi sperm, that I don't really feel much of a loss when I discover some country overseas has some new, bizarre variation on the theme. That isn't to say I find myself unentertained by them, but I'm not slavering to find some means of putting them on my very own shelves.

With that in mind, I recently discovered something too bizarre not to share with those folks who enjoy paying me a visit.

Behold the Japanese breast pudding. Watch them wiggle. Watch them jiggle. Watch your roommate borrow a package for some "personal contemplation". Watch ants swarm over them because you left them unwrapped on the counter all week.

Hopefully it won't awaken a mania for devouring the mammaries of young/cartoon girls. Just don't whip out a spoon every time your girlfriend removes her bra.

Additional snarky commentary and pictures can be found here.

Not even safe in the ungodly hours of predawn

2008-05-27T20:28:00.002-07:00

I'm laying in bed settling into a new dream when I become conscious of someone beating a pillow into submission.

"Urmph?" I suavely inquire.

"Pillow is too squishy."

"So you're fluffing your pillow back to firmness?"

"That's just not right."

"I'm blogging it."

Call of the mild

2008-05-26T12:43:00.000-07:00

*Ring ring*

Hello. Thank you for calling Lanius' Laundromat of Licentious Livery.

"Hello. Do you have movies with just girls in them? No men?"

Yes, indeed we do.

"And do you have lesbian movies?"

What the bloody hell else would you classify a movie as featuring "hot girl-on-girl" action? Yes sir, we do have lesbian movies.

"Could I get a price quote on that one?"

One? You were asking about a genre, Sport. If you think that's the super-duper-specially-special-title-of-one-movie-in-all-of-porndom, you might want to increase the flow rate on your oxygen bottle. Those movies will generally run you between [chunk of change] to [solid sum].

"Oh. I was hoping for something more inexpensive."

Of course you were. Bless your flaccid heart, Mr. Moneybags. We also carry girl-on-girl compilations for [nominal cost], plus if you buy multiples you get a further discount per DVD.

"And those are lesbian movies?"

Now that you've mentioned it, I can't say as I ever remember seeing them socialize much at all, let alone date so I can't really say what the given orientation of a particular DVD. I tend to group them by what sort of footage they contain, but apparently that wasn't the information you really wanted. Or are you just that paranoid about accidentally seeing a penis? Yes sir, as I just said, those would be lesbian films.

"And you have them?"

No you lack-wit, they're on order for delivery six months from now. I just like telling people we already have them, because they're all so jolly about making a trip down here with money in hand to gaze in wonder at the empty space on the shelves where their movie will someday sit. Clean the bloody cottage-cheese out of your ears! You bet, they're waiting on the shelves as we speak for you to select from.

"Thank you."

You're welcome. If you can manage to drive here without the aid of a team of interpretors and negotiators to make sure everyone is aware of what everyone else is intending at intersections, I'll be amazed.

*Click*

Life here is a beach

2008-05-23T20:50:00.000-07:00

Spring has definitely settled in. There will be those who will cock an eyebrow at that and wonder if I've somehow been in a coma for the last few months because the weather has gone through more dramatic changes than an octopus suffering a seizure, however I'm referring less to atmospheric effects than I am to the cycles of human activity.

The tide is coming in as it were. The denizens of the community tide-pools are getting remixed as residents enter into the popular months to relocate. Lots of new faces at this time of year.

Even more noticeable is the human flotsam and jetsam washing up from the current. Just as the with the actual coastal detritus, it's predominately comprised of the broken, the dead, the dying, and flat-out refuse. I believe they tend to flow by in greater density here simply by virtue that sex tends to be something life affirming. Even if it's become something unattainable for them, an aching void or means of staying alive for one more day, it still seems to retain a phantom patina of meaning. It's like they notice the adult stores as they pass through and hope to perhaps witness the ideal they know has to exist.

It's one of the more somber aspects of this industry. Nine times out of ten, if a clerk burns out, it'll be from that segment of the population. Regardless of how up-scale the business model is, if one has a physical store front, they will drift in and there is honestly nothing to be done but sweep them back out the door as politely and firmly as possible.

Always great to have local fans

2008-05-22T19:13:00.000-07:00

From time to time, my store will have the distinct pleasure of a random visit from some shrieking harridan. It's somewhat surreal to experience.

It will be a usual day at work. Consumers diligently looking over our offerings in anticipation of the orgasms to come while staff quietly take care of all the little chores that keeps the mechanism of transferring people's wages to our own pockets running smoothly. Behold the understated elegance of capitalism.

When suddenly, a shrill voice will erupt from the doorway, proclaiming we're sinners/homosexuals/abominations/kickers of puppies/defilers of girl scouts/etc. The epithet varies, though it is always a lone charge. You see, she never tarries at our portal. She will bravely scream one or perhaps two sentences if she's really inspired before sprinting away down the block or across the street doubtless in anticipation of angry people swarming out in pursuit for her deadly insult.

Gee and I thought folks usually outgrew "Ding-Ding-Ditch" before leaving grade school. To hear her bellowing from two blocks away while one of us gives the parking lot a once over to make sure she didn't decide to embellish on her verbal assault of our doorway, you'd think she was the biggest, baddest bitch to ever trod pavement. The challenges and threats come in a torrent, much like getting scolded by a squirrel in a velour track suit.

We ignore her as much as possible. Someday if they make a bug-light large enough, we may have to set one up by the entrance and wait for the lights to flicker while she does an impression of overcooked bacon.

Regardless, I find myself wondering if we're only months away from the fiendishly original "flaming bag of feces on the doorstep" tactic.

They keep going and going and going wrong

2008-05-21T20:23:00.000-07:00

Whoops. Yesterday kinda slipped right by on me.

****************

Electrical storage devices better known as batteries have been around for a long bloody time. If some myths are to be believed, the first crude varieties could have been forged thousands of years ago. Regardless, very powerful, sophisticated power-cells are quite common these days. They've even gotten so widely utilized that most conform to a standardization of size and voltage. I can't recall a time in my life where various items in my house did not require an assortment of batteries, usually heavily biased toward AA. So it strikes me as it should be safe to assume that any given person past age seven at the latest would be thoroughly conversant with the function of batteries at an end-user level.

So, why is it that there is a significant percentage of customers who need it explained, carefully and slowly, how to put the batteries into their new sexual novelty?! You would think that folks would already be clued in to look for the marked "+" and "-" symbols or diagrams in the battery compartment. You would assume that unless they were to be installed in tandem, that the cells would most commonly be put in alternating alignment.

There was even a briefly retained member of the staff here who would routinely down-check toys as non-functioning because he would always put the batteries in in one orientation and was too thick-witted to even wonder why he never had a side-by-side battery toy ever test out for him. Like I said, his employment was happily brief.

I fail to comprehend how individuals like that can even function in this society. It's like failing to understand the technology of push buttons. What next?! Will we next be beset with torch-wielding peasants seeking to put to the question those making use of the unholy sorcery known as "elastic?"

Seriously, is there anything more embarrassing than calling the adult store where you bought your new vibrator all charged up with outraged ire because it's broken before you ever got to use it only to have the clerk point out that the batteries were put in incorrectly? "Oh ha ha. I want to insert things into holes in my body, but I lack the technological savvy a five year old exhibits swapping out the batteries in a remote control. No, I'm almost positive I'm trying to put things in the right holes. Thank you very much."

Please tell me I'm not the only person horrified by this.

Fantastic week so far

2008-05-19T15:05:00.001-07:00

Stupendous in the same way as getting caught in a stampede of rabid porcupines before plummeting off a cliff into a mélange of devils club, nettles, and fire ants.

And you have an audience.

With video cameras.

And they've recorded for posterity (and publication) every last girlie shriek and ineffectual flailing.

To put it another way, today has been "full of suck/fail."

I yearn to break, rend, and/or destroy.

Do not make me nail your foot to the floor

2008-05-16T21:30:00.000-07:00

Hey you! Yes you, the glassy-eyed by-blow of an Alzheimer's addled bovine. When you approach the thrice damned counter to check out with your purchase, PARK YOUR PUTRID CARCASS UNTIL I'M DONE RINGING UP THE BLOODY SALE! Sekhmet's Scarlet-Spattered Skateboard, I hate waiting poised over the register for you to decide after you've made your second or third tour of the entire premises to deign proffer a form of payment. Granted it probably makes you feel all warm and special like your uncle Leon did before another round of your "extra special secret game" to have me hanging on your whim, but I'm utterly unamused. I do not appreciate you tying up my till with an interminably open ticket. Incomprehensible as it may seem we have customers other than you who might be waiting for you to cease your dithering. In fact, there almost always are.

While we're on the subject, once you deposit your stack of merchandise on the counter and tell me you're ready to go, it's understood that you are finished with your bloody shopping. The proper moment to bring up such corrections is when I inquired as to whether you found everything you were looking for. It is not when I have presented you with a grand total and asked if you preferred to pay by cash or card. Haring off to grab one more thing or a last-minute substitution is forgivable the first time. Attempting to pull that stunt several times in the same transaction is an invitation to try and break the world's record for the longest sustained water-boarding in history. Waste my time for the next fifteen minutes adding and subtracting various items until you somehow find the "perfect balance" and I'll get creative in ways with will make Torquemada break out in a cold sweat.

And when you attempt to get huffy with me, like you always seem to do, when your ticket becomes my last priority and everyone else in the store will be assisted prior to you, you will thank whatever hard-up deities willing to claim you as their own that modern society frowns on expunging vermin like you out of some idealistic notion you possess some intrinsic worth outside of compost.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be at the register. Thank you for being ready to go when you get here.

Wang shui

2008-05-15T19:30:00.001-07:00

I am no longer surprised by what someone is willing to spend their money on in order to ejaculate some libido into their living space. Why they feel that given need at all is entirely their own affair, but I shan't be started by it. In fact, it's often more mystifying as to where they happen to find the furnishings that make their little hearts "giggity-giggity-goo!" It's not like you can stroll down to your local plumbing fixture store and wander out with a Virgin Mary you can take a whiz in. Equally doubtful would be hitting the local home furnishings outlet for a set of wooden breasts you can store things in or penis-shaped wall hooks.

Well, that enigma has been been at least partially solved. You can shop Cribcandy to get all that and more.

I think I'll stick with a home decor scheme that won't add me to a sex offender registry if someone under the age of majority happens to breeze past my open window, thank you very much.

I do have two questions however.

Does your dog really need their own sex toy? And is it just me or can you see some saucy wag planting pussy willow, tulips, or a rubber plant in item #5?

h/t to Fleshbot

I wonder if macro grammar is becoming the language of lurve

2008-05-14T21:13:00.000-07:00

Know the difference between a LOLcat macro and an attempted internet hook-up? If you strip away the brainless text, the macro will at least occasionally leave you with something amusing to look at.

Giving a hat-tip to Eros Blog, a guy hammering away at the keyboard under the nom de'guerre of "The Snarling Misanthrope" decided to tackle the compost heap of Craigslist personal ads in a trilogy of open letters: One, Two, and Three. If naught else, it did provide me fodder to lead off this post.

Unfortunately, the steaming manure sent hither and yon through "teh interwebs" is not confined solely to Craig's legendary experiment in converting everything from employment to knick-knacks, housing to dating into an immense virtual garage sale with all the associated glamour and value.

It's ubiquitous. Every social networking/dating site is rife with the same churlish behaviors. The web has been around long enough that damn near anyone who has spent any time seeing what is out there has poked around at least a couple sites ostensibly geared toward putting people in contact, hopefully skin-to-skin, to witness the depressing truth of my assertion.

"Women" routinely adopt the position that it's a seller's market in their favor. Regardless of how close that actually comes to reality, they appear to believe their personal chances for success are increased by being selfish. In general, personal details are sparse and sketchy at best while demanding potential suitors to jump through a myriad of hoops. "Men" tend toward listing attributes and "enticement." Why? Because "men" are more prone to accepting the terms as offered and acting from the side of meeting enough criteria to achieve a given goal. (One should also never discount the influence of pedigreed stupidity either.)

As a result, a system has been cultivated to lobotomize the seduction/dating process. Since "women" are tight-lipped about what sort of person they are, responders are behooved to act on minimal data in the hopes that they will get enough back to refine whether this person is someone they desire to pursue. This means it's in the best interests of the "men" to respond to as many ads as possible in a given span of time, especially when one factors in the percentage of ads that either fail to generate a reply or are attached to some variety of bot. Consequently, they no longer have the luxury of drafting personal, informational emails. They don't have the time. They must get their message out. They must make that contact NOW. Lines are ruthlessly culled, "frilly" verbiage excised, until the bones lay gleaming and exposed; "Me man. Want fuck? Me big." Perhaps even that is too ponderous and so they jump to short hand. A/S/L? Or maybe they start to feel clever remembering the old saw that a picture is worth a thousand words.

They know what they are interested in with laser-like intensity so they apply the never-fail assumption that since they're so keen on girl bits, that obviously their opposite number is on the edge of their seat to catch a peek of their bits. A couple seconds looking up some porn for fluffing purposes and a cell phone picture or two from a hopefully flattering angle and they're golden. Suddenly those portraits of their one-and-only are speeding away to in-boxes near and far in the sublime assurance that they will be inundated with volunteers to wet it down.

This is what women want right? These are the cues they are giving after all, despite their protestations to the contrary. But no, they get annoyed and frustrated by the preponderance of crude one-liners, form letters, and unsolicited gallery of sausage. In turn they get more snarky, demand more hoops, and become more nebulous about who they are.

Never mind the fact that expecting reality to match the profile given online is like playing roulette, except the wheel is the size of Montana, the cups and ball are the same size, and you can only bet on a single number; hence the quotation marks around the genders above.

The fun doesn't stop there however. You see this type of behavior has apparently become so ingrained it is a feature of chat rooms and spontaneous IM contact. In fact, it's so common that ignore buttons have become standard equipment in the interfaces. Even more appalling, at times people will actually converse verbally, face-to-face in this manner.

Trust me. When you can't tell if that guy in your store is trying to establish a connection or has just sexually harassed another customer, things have gone seriously FUBAR in the world.

If you really want to scare yourself, consider whether the above mode of communication rewards the educated and well spoken or the other end of the spectrum.

Freeassurance?

2008-05-13T20:29:00.000-07:00

Most folks like to portray themselves as completely self-assured in regards to their sexual interests. No one wants to reveal themselves as knee-quaking, gibberingly terrified of their own sexual urges. No one desires to expose the mass of insecurities and anxieties that may lurk just below the surface. So they try to ignore the little whispers murmuring to their tender ears alone that they're doing it wrong. They can't really please their partner. Their partner is secretly pining for something else. What makes them hot is sick. They're the only person on the planet who gets off on that.

Thus is born the wide, ever-expanding sphere of sexual help resources. As long as they can procure the advice of some perceived expert anonymously and discretely, the public's appetite for revealed secrets to sexual bliss will never be sated.

However, that is a tangent to be run to ground another day, for there is another symptom of this wide-spread libidinous insecurity that I run across continually. Damned near every patron who wanders through an adult store will ask at least once in the course of their visits for some gesture of reassurance from the staff. They need that outside voice to tell them they're fine, that they're normal, that they aren't the hideous deviant they suspect they truly are.

Where else are they going to secure any outside verification of their sex life? The subject is considered to be intensely private. Say what you will about the influx of sex into popular media and fashion, but there is still a solid core of assumption that sexual congress is not an acceptable conversational topic. Even with very vocal elements who state that we need to cast a light on that facet of human existence still seem unable to divorce the subject matter from being a "mature," "serious," "non-trivial" topic. Therefore, folks typically will either adopt the gravity to discuss in generally dry, diagnostic terms or to treat it as a forum for a continuing run of jokes. So one has the choice between information so impersonal as to be untranslatable into personal life or wildly inaccurate if not utterly sensationalized reports.

They could ask a lover or close friend, but that runs the risk of losing that relationship if they reveal something too outrageous for the other person to accept. Not to mention that there is always that suspicion that what they will tell you is biased toward preserving your feelings regardless of their true feelings on the matter.

Instead, they have us, the porn store employees. We're strangers or familiar faces at most. We're surrounded by sex in all its myriad flavors. We are also disposable. Therefore, it's less of a risk to ask us about damn near any sexual fetish or dysfunction than pretty much anyplace else. They could argue that we have the necessary credentials to make the determination for them and at the very worst, if we totally recoil in revulsion screaming that they are a sick, twisted little fuck-puppet, they can simply leave that store never to return and never to share that bit of themselves again. Honestly, I've never seen such a worst case scenario ever come to pass, but it would still have to enter into the customer's mind even if only on a subconscious level.

If they don't have something in specific in mind, they'll instead make some comment about how "we must see all kinds of people/freaks." They're looking for confirmation they aren't in the freak category. Such questions or comments are designed so we, the clerks, will provide them with a yardstick to compare themselves to those around them. Beside the titillation of sharing in some hopefully lurid misdeeds of someone else, it gives them specifics to draw upon in calibrating their normative scale of sex.

It can be absolutely amazing how often a quiet reassurance that the item the patron is considering is no big deal and "typical" is the tipping point for that person to make the purchase.

Yes, indeed. If you buy from us today we'll not only sell you the aids to your orgasm, but we'll toss in the personal affirmation so you can enjoy it more absolutely free.

Where the hell have I been?!

2008-05-12T12:15:00.000-07:00

Freya's Rusty Bed-springs! You get involved in gutting a store as close to the foundations as possible while still remaining in operation to rebuild it and the next thing you know, grotesque swaths of time have elapsed since you've drafted a new post. I'm appalled.

It's like poking my head up out of the trenches to discover that I'm the only living creature amidst miles of torn soil, barbed wire, and carnage.

Definitely a "Holy Frothy Fuck!" moment.

We'll see what I can do to alleviate the erratic pace.

We don't do it to inconvenience you

2008-05-07T21:24:00.000-07:00

A gentleman wanders into the store and after giving a moderately cheerful greeting informs me that he has some change to convert to bills for the arcade. Of course I am happy to provide this service with one caveat. We will only exchange a certain amount of coin.

That brought him up short. He blinked at me and then related that he was going to be spending the money in our arcade. He didn't understand why I would have an issue with however much he wanted to convert over.

My response was to say that large amounts of small change wreak havoc on the cash drawer and therefore store policy was to limit the volume a given arcade customer might contribute to any given shift.

Predictably given how taken aback he was when I told him I would only take a portion of his change, he objected. The amount I'd accept was relatively useless for him and if I wasn't interested in his money, he'd find some other business with better priorities. He left fuming.

I wish I could have done something for him. In fact, if he hadn't been seeking to unload at least ten bucks worth of coin on me, I would have looked upon making an exception with a bit more favor. Unfortunately, he was seeking to move such a sum.

So for the benefit of his stated desire to expend his wad in our arcade booth, I should devote the time to count out his wad of coins before deciding if I want to add their mass to the cash drawer or separate them out into a nicely round number to toss into the safe. Either way, it's a huge pain in the arse.

It could be suggested that I am simply being lazy to the detriment of commerce, except for a secondary factor. The tweakers and side-walk rangers in the area indulge in an informal industry of their own; scrounging change. This in turn leaves them highly desirous of relieving the weight in their pockets with much lighter, more flexible bills. Since they won't hesitate to lie in order to get what they want, the only effective means to keep them from scooting out the door with the greater part of our useful tender is that we have imposed a limit on the change we'll convert.

It can be moderately inconvenient, but less so than getting all your change for a purchase entirely in coin.

Title decides function?

2008-05-05T16:00:00.001-07:00

They say that professionals know their shit. In some cases, in a literal and biblical sense. The side-effect is that they operate in a logical, predictable manner. When it comes to something like say framing, roofing, wiring or plumbing this is greatly to be desired.

The reality is that there's an ungodly preponderance of self-deluded amateurs, dilettantes, wanna-be's all sporting that sexy chrome-plated title of societal majesty.

Such has been my day.

On the other hand, watching contractors being slowly driven to drink, emasculated weeping, and heightened personal interest in suicide in the course of their labors to fix and correct the masterwork of demented, though energetic job corps wash-out someone in their infinite wisdom decided to inflict upon an innocent building somehow makes this bright, clear vernal day all the more festive.

May Day! May Day! I'm going down!

2008-05-01T21:46:00.000-07:00

It's May first. Know what that means?

Outdoor fucking season is once again upon us.

Perhaps now is the time to unveil my new line of water-based lubricants with DEET and outdoorsy woodland scents. Or for those who've decided to tryst in a lush patch of nettles or poison ivy, erotic body paints containing calamine.

Possibly illustrating the priority of booty over rum

2008-04-30T21:45:00.001-07:00

The projects are still going strong, sweat and optimism fills the air, which is not so unusual in an adult store, but is much more innocuous in this case. However, it does mean I remain busy as a stigmatic in a shark tank, although less entertaining to watch.

So I thought I'd provide those of you who have been persevering through the current dry spell of new postings with something colorful. I'm sure any passing resemblance to a particular person living or dead or cinematic feature is completely coincidental.

Arrrr-tistic licentiousness?

More in that vein can be found should you dig at the X.

And just on GP regarding copyright, "You are free to use this pics on your blog s as it was temporarily removed from Sinful Comics archives.
And they are free for all now"

Reprise number two... Fire!

2008-04-29T22:23:00.002-07:00

Originally sampled in April of 2006 as "Sometimes it's better to go it alone."

Spend as many hours watching people browsing an adult video store as I do and you'll have noticed trends in behavior. As politically incorrect as it may be, almost everyone passing my front door slots themselves into a profile in a matter of seconds. It's actually rather disturbing. Makes me wonder about my own habitual behaviors, but that is another topic for another day.

Far and away, men are the most commonly seen gender entering the store. We're a video store and since most of them are geared for men, it tends to forge a self-sustaining cycle. It also provides me an ever expanding sample to base my observations upon.

Men coming into the store alone most often will exhibit body language and actions that are confident and relaxed. They speak in conversational tones. They will either go right to the section of the store they desire and make a selection with a minimum of effort or will take some time to browse. Most often, they have no anxiety in asking about products or titles if they have not found them in their initial searches. The stress level is low.

If they are uncomfortable, it is easy to address them, be calmly professional and let them catch their breath. Any self-consciousness about being reassured by a store clerk is usually easily gotten past because no one is there to witness. It's no big deal and they feel more confident afterward.

Then there are the men who come into the store with a woman. Suddenly, you notice little currents around them. Depending on whether it's the man driving this visit to the store, the woman, or a mutual decision. In some instances, the man seems to need to project a worldly and thorough knowledge of all the adult industry has to offer. In many cases, it is taken to an extreme of him acting in an arrogantly indulgent manner to his companion. In other occasions, the male in the pair will be silent and following his companion about the store. This can even go so far as to be in essence subsumed by her will.
What is really interesting is when one of the pair has a negative opinion of something. I have seen men deliver withering looks and back-handed comments to the woman they are shopping with who makes the mistake of showing interest in a movie genre or toy that discomfits them. At the same time, I have observed upon more than one occasion a woman take her male companion down several notches for the same sin.

The flip-side of this coin is when two men come into the store together. You'd think much of the time that with two men shopping the store together that they'd perhaps be romantically involved. That rarely seems to be the case. As a result, the men seem to fall into carefully maintained demeanors. One of which is to act jaded, to imply by body language that it was their buddy that wanted to come into the store. This is a behavior that thrills me to my toenails let me tell you. Nothing like the implication that people need to be ashamed to be in the store or somehow deficient in some relationship/sexual regard. They will browse the stores with a polished casualness. They will make comments and observations designed to show they are above such carnal things. The least implication that their companion is interested in what they might like to buy or perhaps that their friend finds it worthy of even a shred of scorn, will instantly put them into a defensive "I-wasn't-really-interested-in-that-I-was-just-messing-around" mode. I hate that. Not only does it kill the sale I hope to make, but it makes the rest of my customers slightly uncomfortable. The other default is what I tend to think of as "frat boy cliché" behavior. They cannot exhibit anything which might be taken as serious. They will laugh loudly, act expansively, and talk in loud, boisterous tones. They will search the movie titles in order to find fodder for jokes. They will target the toy section in order to try and one-up their buddy with more and more personally extreme toys.

Couples can be the best or the worst of customers. When they are here together, shopping in concert, the male will seem to exhibit the better of the single male shopper traits. If the relationship has issues, it will find a way to broadcast to the store environment. If the two of them are just friends, most of the time the men will conform to the more negative behaviors in the hopes of protecting themselves by not exposing "weakness" and exploiting any perceived "weakness" in their companion.

Three or more people entering the store together regardless of the mix of women to men, provided there is a man in the group, he will fall into a role. It is virtually unheard of for me to observe a man in such a group not adopting a posture. If there are more women than men in the group, the men will usually attempt to shock or corrupt the women. If there are more men than women, one may adopt the "been there, done that, unimpressed" pose, but mostly they seem to choose the "frat boy cliché" option. The more males or appropriately attentive females, the more they play it up. I would say the obnoxiousness of the men is an exponential progression to the number of additional party members.

In short, if you happen to be a guy, unless you have a kick-ass relationship, your adult store shopping experience will be vastly improved as a solo mission.

Reprise Take One

2008-04-28T11:47:00.002-07:00

Originally sampled in March of 2006 as "If you can't lick the problem, give it a good fondling.":

It should come as no surprise to anyone that we carry flavored lubes. I have working knowledge about several brands and there are so many flavors on the market, it would make a popular ice-cream chain feel like it only stocks chocolate, vanilla, and strawberry. Personally, I tend to enjoy discovering the newest taste craze.

Sometimes they'll sound novel such as vanilla-caramel sundae. Some strike me as better on the drawing board than in general use, such as coffee. Some just make me shake my head in disbelief, such as jalapeno flavor.

But more often I am mystified by the people who buy the lube. Or at least a certain percentage of them. On a variety of occasions over the years a man and woman will want to buy some flavored lube.

Alright, this totally jives with the way the universe works. So far, so good. However, the female will be the one spending several minutes selecting a particular flavor. Most of the time, if she is attempting to solicit an opinion from her companion, they have none.

I can only surmise as to why this is.

Her companion is a cretinous moron and is unable to differentiate flavors at all. To which, there is no reason to buy a flavored lube. It's like taking a deaf person to a symphony in a vacuum.
Her companion will sample any flavor. Thus, it is only vanity guiding the flavor choice. Which honestly is a perfectly valid reason.
She is buying it to use on him. Therefore, he has no preference because he's not going to be sampling. There are better products on the market to add zip to fellatio. Most of the flavored lubes are indeed lubricants first and foremost. Unless someone has a serious case of dry-mouth, saliva generally gets things slick enough. If they're giving a hand-job, there are no taste-buds in the hand. Less chemical, though slightly less viscous, options would not hinder if they take the occasional lick. (I can think of other variants on the her using on him, but those tend to fall into the "Good show, carry on." category.)
It's one of her "special" questions on par with, "Do these pants make my ass look fat?" In this case, if she's going to set him/herself up with a vehicle to imply she tastes/smells distasteful, he needs to run to the hills as fast as possible. She's going to have sexual issues aplenty to sort through before she's ready to work with a partner.

Sometimes these types of puzzles just float up in the course of a day. Trends or patterns that suddenly snap into focus after months or even years.

That or I really need to switch to decaf.

A smile and a handshake ain't gonna cut it

2008-04-21T13:14:00.000-07:00

Ah the succulent joys of a Monday.

A woman, after selecting a couple movies and a realistic dong, threw them up on the counter neatly along side a credit card. Consequently, I inquired if I could see her ID to back up said credit card.

Nope, they forgot their wallet at home. She allegedly left her house early to be able to pop into my store on their way to an appointment of some sort and somehow forgot to make sure she had her wallet along. Never mind that I don't know of many people who routinely carry their credit cards loose upon their person. This omission however is totally OK because they "shop here all the time."

Right.

Then my eye falls upon the name imprinted on the humble card. It's unmistakably masculine. Whereupon I ask with inner trepidation if the card is actually hers.

Nope. It's her husband's. That makes it alright, right?

The fuck you say. Ringing up a healthy sales total for someone with no credentials as to their identity on a card belonging to someone else? Not going to happen sister. But thank you ever so for checking to see if a turnip truck passed by this morning.

Remember those halcyon days when I was looking forward to this?

2008-04-18T18:39:00.002-07:00

It's been a grinding week, interspersed with plot twists, surprise reversals, large bottles of booze, and mind-numbing drudgery. And there's still much more ahead of me. Gods of a pig's arse, how I detest transcription, regardless of how vital such efforts are.

So here I sit, scarfing down mediocre Chinese take-away and savoring my moment of outlet before I must embark upon the next leg of file transport.

I can hardly wait until it's all finished. Needless to say, I will also definitely be in need of a vacation.

At least the live-stock we affectionately refer to as consumers have been keeping to a dull roar. The stupid questions still persist. There have been a few drunks unsuccessfully attempting to walk the razor's edge betwixt being a barely coherent ass and insufferably sloppy. Fortunately the brain trust who was apparently hazy on the concept of hygiene and acceptable places for bodily functions happened to not only be relatively unobtrusive in the grand scheme of store operations, but easily and swiftly corrected by the janitor.

Anyway, I'll be back next week. In the event my schedule retains the frenetic pace of this one, I think I will repost a few past entries near and dear to my pitchy black heart.

Enjoy the weekend.

A near miss

2008-04-14T16:11:00.000-07:00

*Ring ring*

Good morning, thank you for calling Lanius' Lair of Lechery.

A woman's voice greets me. "Hi. Do you have 'A History of Violence' with Viggo Mortensen?"

Oh dear. Ma'am, you know how it mentions "video" in the store listing? I think you've perhaps skipped over an adjective or two preceding that particular noun. Right Family, wrong Genus. The sick bastard part of my personality causes me to contemplate for a split-second telling her that we actually have a copy just to see the look on her face when she strolls in and understanding dawns on her. Uh... Noooo. Not going to perpetrate a potentially mortifying lie on some pleasant sounding lady who had the misfortune to dial the wrong flavor of store. I am a professional.

"Oh darn."

Have a great day.

*click*

Before I once more throw myself unto the breach that is data-entry

2008-04-11T20:53:00.002-07:00

Recall how I said there'd be a price demanded of me for slacking off yesterday?

It's being exacted. So no post for today.

I'm not in a very nice mood today anyway.

Enjoy your weekend. I'm sure I'll be able to steal a bit of time Monday to write something more substantial than cynical navel-gazing.

It's a great job, except for the people

2008-04-10T21:09:00.000-07:00

I'm still incredibly busy with setting up the new database, though I am making progress. In any case, it seemed rude to neglect my humble attempt at a blog for too long. The fact that writing something is infinitely more enjoyable that filling in data field after data field and that after spending several days doing little more than entering inventory from scratch I'd leap upon any excuse for distraction like a goshawk on a three-legged squirrel is purely coincidental. I'm sure I'll pay for the mental vacation at some later point, but it seems worth it at the present.

Never mind that now. It's time for ranting.

You see the other night while I was gritting my teeth and offering my sanity as a slowly devoured sacrifice to the gods of Point-of-Sale software, a middle-aged gentleman decided to peruse my store's shelves much to my misfortune and demise of sanguine demeanor. For after he'd explored down an aisle or two he'd apparently discovered something that evoked his interest. Do not get me wrong, ultimately that is the very result we are attempting to cultivate here; some slick, sexy new trifle you can't wait to take home and know in a biblical sense. However, when he looked around a couple times over the level of the store fixtures in concert with his marked focus on whatever item was in his hand at the time, it was time to have a face-to-face chit-chat with him.

As I feared, when I drew nigh to him he was fondling a penis sheath with the carton it had been neatly packaged in prior to his investigation hanging from a peg with the bag panel ripped asunder. I looked at the ruins of the box and then the soft rubber object he was still poking a grimy thumbnail into in contemplation and asked him if there was anything else I could help him with. He replied that it seemed like a pretty simple novelty to which I agreed shortly. He then asked me how much it was. I looked at the violated carton I had by now recovered from the hook and recited the price printed on the tag.

Almost before the sum had passed my lips, he was recoiling. It was too expensive and he was no longer interested in the item.

I had to suppress the small frigid smile that naturally wanted to cross my features when I told him that was a shame since the moment he chose to tear open the package, he'd bought the penis sheath.

Of course, he ranted and raved that it was unfair of the store to have such a policy, that it was impossible to know that customers weren't allowed to open the packages, that he didn't have that much money on him, and that I couldn't make him pay for it.

I daresay I might have implied he had the cognitive skills of a small variety of squash and was nothing more than the meanest stripe of craven thief in the course of explaining to him in pointed terms the correlation of all the items being taped shut and signs saying "do not open the merchandise" to my assertion that not only do we honestly don't want customers to rip open the packages, but it's so obvious it takes deliberate effort to not understand. Consequently, things got a tad heated for a while.

In the end, he left and I was stuck with a no longer saleable item.

In a perfect world I would have been able to hold him prisoner until someone paid the ransom on his behalf not only for the replacement of the item, but pro-rated room-and-board from the hour of his infraction.

It's a good thing I have outlets for my homicidal impulses.

The only thing I want to deliver is a savage beating

2008-04-07T13:28:00.000-07:00

*Ring Ring*

Hello, thank you for calling Lanius' Lechatarium. (Yeah, I'm making up words today. But it rolls off the tongue in an interesting manner. I suppose it should given the subject matter.)

A slightly hoarse male voice responds. "Um, hi. What kinda store are you?"

Discover a random number somewhere and got curious what was on the other end? Or were you just too stupid to discern the subject matter from the listing you were looking at? We're an adult store.

"Where are you located?"

So you were just making sure you'd found what you were looking for, no sweat. I give him the address and some generalized directions. My caller then decided to swerve rapidly off the reservation. On par with Geronimo conducting a daring day-light raid on the cavalry forts in Laos in fact.

"So what kind of movies do you have there?"

Candid footage of rest homes! In-depth interviews of senior citizens who have been in comas since Nixon's term in office! What else would an adult store stock? Holy flaming fondue forks of Armageddon this is NEVER a legitimate question. I am suddenly weary of the caller and unamused. We carry adult movies.

He changes the subject quickly upon hearing the flat, clipped tone of my voice. "Do you have any toys?"

Yes.

Apparently he decided his cunning change-up threw me off the scent from the question immediately preceding his last. "So what type of adult movies do you have?"

Pay attention this time you sodden wad of sputum, I'm not playing this game. We have a wide variety of adult movies. You'd need to stop in and take a look to get an idea of everything we stock.

He doesn't give up. I'm not surprised his train of thought is welded to the rails and chugging frantically into a cliff-face as if a tunnel will suddenly spring into existence. It's guys like this that make mine fields so rewarding. "Like what? Give me some examples. What's on them?"

Once again, it's better for you to stop in and take a look. I know damned well this mouth-breathing apple-john doesn't have the berries to crack the door here. Nor do I suspect, a valid identification card showing he's reached the requisite chronological maturity.

"OK, so how would I place an order?"

How about you contact some place that does mail-order? This isn't like a pizza place where you have the choice of dine-in, take-out or delivery. Ugh. The idea of having a delivery driver in this business just makes my stomach churn. Not worth the hassle. You don't.

"But I want to place an order."

It doesn't work that way. You come in and buy your stuff and you take it with you, we don't bring it to you.

"Oh, I...."

*Click!*

I hung up on him. My allotted minutes for dealing with ambulatory road-kill were now expended for the week.

It's the little things that make you wonder why anyone needs drugs

2008-04-04T22:26:00.002-07:00

Been spending my days chipping away at the daunting mass of information that awaits squirreling away in the labyrinthine workings of the new software, which say what you will about the mind turning into a bland pudding after the first dozen or so entries scrupulously entered in, but time does tend to pass quickly while muttering newly minted blasphemies and arcane obscenities.

Thus you must forgive me if I found the following happenstance to be a bit of a palette-cleanser if you will.

I was answering the call of nature not too long ago since humans seem to exhibit marked difficulty at retaining multiple quarts of strongly brewed iced tea when my eye happened to note a wad of silvery medium blue mesh resting demurely atop the toilet tank. I cocked an eyebrow at it while I finished my immediate errand and wondered if that really was what I thought it was.

A few minutes later, after donning a couple pair of latex gloves and equipped with an implement to poke at the mass with I returned to investigate.

It was indeed as I suspected initially. It was a very sheer women's thong. By all appearances it was pristine which made me immediately suspect the partial remains of a shop-lifting. Which was plausible except we didn't stock anything similar that it could have come from. Which means that someone brought it in with them to abandon.

Outcome? Random Act of Thong.

If you need me I'll be in the corner giggling

2008-04-02T20:10:00.002-07:00

Just jab me with a sharp stick if I seem prone to going acutely Renfield on the world.

So much more to do to get the new system up and running. Funny how it takes until implementation that you notice the pesky gaps in your understanding of the software and have to either pull shit whole cloth from one's arse or get devious to compensate when the manual doesn't reveal the desired information.

The deathmarch is upon me

2008-04-01T22:36:00.002-07:00

Finally.

At long last, the new software has arrived.

And now, I have ungodly volumes of data to punch into the system.

I don't know whether to giggle with glee or because my last tenuous threads to sanity have finally snapped.

So bloody busy.

Argh!

Oh dear

2008-03-31T13:25:00.000-07:00

It should probably go without saying that my boss has moments of inexplicable insanity. After all, he did hire me and that's not the act of a rationale human by any stretch. Great guy and fabulous employer, but sometimes I cannot fathom what possessed him.

One of the latest manifested impulses on his part was the purchase of an energy drink of dubious province in sizable quantity. We have and do stock energy drinks along with the more expected items of a porn-flavored outlet. They aren't exactly flying off the shelves, but now and then a customer will decide to fortify themselves with a can or two before doing that thing they itch to do. If nothing else, it provides my staff with life-saving caffeine on those days when fatigue has settled over them like a lead shag carpet.

Apparently, the muse of innovation was whispering in his ear when the salesperson happened by. I'll grant it this much, it is different. Also if the cans are to be credible, they have four times the kick of a Red Bull. OK, I can see giving it a trial.

Our definitions for how many items should make up a trial run seem to be quite divergent. Oh well, perhaps we'll sell a lot of it and my concerns will be for naught.

I even sampled one.

I managed to endure two sips.

I don't know about the rest of the world, but a beverage that tastes like a thin berry syrup with a habañero chaser strikes me as appealing to a narrow percentage of taste-buds regardless of how effective it is as a pick-me-up.

I suspect I'm going to be seeing those festively labeled cans sitting on the shelves for quite some time.

Look for the tells

2008-03-28T22:20:00.000-07:00

People that play poker will clue in that the title refers to the subtle habits and twitches other players have that reveal whether they have good or poor hands. Folks who play sports might interpret the title to refer to the unconscious physical hints that presage their opponent making a move. Others who have been in a conflict might associate the above as the slight shift of carriage of someone who has committed themselves to some act of aggression.

Humanity expends a huge degree of effort into following what their fellow has to say, even when those words diverge greatly from the actions of the speaker they will still engage in convoluted explanations to reconcile things so the words remain correct. It's a bad habit and leads to a lot of pain.

Not to long ago, a friend of mine was relating her frustration and hurt that her boyfriend was still going out of his way for his ex. He swore up and down that things between him and his former significant other were completely over except for a minor friendship. My friend took him at his word and was thus increasingly distressed as she witnessed more and more favors done on the ex's behalf. In the end, it brought about a bitter, acrimonious sundering of their relationship.

From the outside or retrospect in her case the reasons are embarrassingly obvious. He was still hung up on his ex. Whatever bull-shit he chose to ladle out to those around him or even himself about how he had removed himself from wanting to continue to be involved with his ex could not hide the reality of how he behaved around his ex. If my friend had stopped to judge him by his actions instead of repeatedly seeking some explanation that excused everything, it probably wouldn't have ended so destructively. She definitely wouldn't have felt so betrayed.

So even in the world of dating and relationships, look for the tells.

I think my eyes are bleeding

2008-03-27T21:39:00.002-07:00

Hey folks, please try to use some common sense when you decide to visit an adult store.

Chances are that if you happen to be male with a physique resembling a bag of rancid suet, that wearing your jeans at half-mast so people can't help but notice your stylish leather thong almost certainly be interpreted by the vast majority of people within to be in poor judgment.

If you happen to be a female on the far side of forty who's prodigious breasts have long since succumbed to entropy and gravity to the point they are literally drooping to the top of your jeans, a transparently sheer mesh top is not sufficient to the task of being your only garment north of the equator.

I applaud their unsinkable body image, but dear gods I did not need to see that.

It makes the brain weep

2008-03-26T22:13:00.000-07:00

I hope folks will forgive me for being a bit sparse with my posts of late, been just a touch too busy or distracted to plunge into getting a new post up with the speed I would desire.

Be that as it may, I think there may be something in the water. I had yet another customer ask me whether we have any lube and if so, where it would be as they were standing less than a foot away from it. I'm used to such unconscionably stupid questions, but it's almost unheard of to have such a few number of days between repetitions.

I truly wish I could relate that was the extent of the mental trauma this twerp sought to wreak upon my long suffering psyche, but this guy was a train-wreck of oblivious idiocy.

Here are a few of the highlights of the barrage of questions he directed to me.

Are the guys who can't get dates the ones who buy pocket pussies?
Do you have any five thousand dollar sex dolls?
Which lubes can be used in the vagina?
Can you get AIDS from any of those lubes?

The first of those got him a firm reprimand. All sorts of people buy toys.
A sex doll with a price-tag of five grand is such a niche purchase that I cannot ever see justifying locking that much capital into an item that will probably wait for years before selling, if ever.
A lube that can't be used vaginally isn't much of a lube and is not going to be a good commercial seller.
An unopened nationally advertised lubricant is not going to contain HIV. Where the fuck did he ever get this idea?

All I can do is pray he never manages to breed.

Tired

2008-03-24T15:42:00.000-07:00

It would be one thing if I was fried because I had been hanging out with friends until dawn or engaged in some marathon binge of sex that tested the limits of my endurance and hydration levels. Unfortunately, it's not as delightful when my slumber was curtailed through no fault of my own save a brain that would not stop actively chasing tangents like a litter of bloodhound puppies in the middle of a wildlife preserve. Eight hours of yawning and attempting to drift off cocooned nicely in a peacefully dark room, because I'm that bloody stubborn, and I don't think I even managed a half-hearted doze. Suffice to say, I am somewhat unamused by the resultant attenuation of the world around me.

Fortunately, I can glide through today by further consolidating the dwindling survivors of our VHS purge and receiving the latest bounty left by the shipping companies.

And Lo, by the grace of caffeine do packing peanuts not get repurposed into high-speed porn clerk landing mounds.

Appears to enjoy paint chips with his beer

2008-03-21T21:42:00.000-07:00

Early on in a recent shift, I was presented with a middle aged guy attempting to mask rising confusion with looking thoughtful. He was just passing from "moderately constipated" into "was that just a moist fart or did I just crap myself" when he decided take a gamble that a staff member, me, would be in a position to assist him.

"Do you have any lube?"

Ah ha, so that look of intense concentration writ large across your face was because you forgot how to breath and wanted to make sure you built up a bit of momentum before the next bout of hypoxia. We have a lot.

He narrows slightly bloodshot, porcine eyes at me. "Where?"

You mean the roughly three hundred square feet of bottles, tubs, and tubes in festive colors and supposedly eye-catching labels twelve inches from where you are standing? You mean all those items you have to look past to address me? You're standing in front of it.

He again narrows his eyes and flexes what remains of his neck over his expansive shoulders, doubtless convinced I have somehow played a trick on him hiding gallons of groin slick literally right under his nose. I suppress the sudden impulse to brandish a red cape to see if he'll launch into a full-out roid rage. Eventually his low grunts give way to words complete with false comradely laugh.

"What would you recommend?"

A strong eyeglass prescription, an assistant to do the heavy mental lifting for you, and spotter armed with a cattle-prod so you don't try to put your angry inch where it doesn't belong. Depends on what you're looking to do. Normally I would leave it at that until the patron either coughed up the brand they were actually looking for or decided to ask why that mattered, however with Ugg demonstrating sharpness most often associated with river rocks, I felt the best course was to point him at something middle of the road, ring him up, and send him on his meaty way. This is a good general brand...

He cut me off. "I wanna plug her in the ass."

Oh yes, this guy was a real Casanova. The charm and charisma fairly dripped off him. I'd have to have the janitor mop that up before it started corroding the flooring. Then I'd say your best choices would be a silicone-based like this...

"Gonna plug her in the ass."

Thank you, I had forgotten since the first time you mentioned it. ... or a very thick water-based like this one.

His cell phone goes off and he spends several minutes telling his ostensible girlfriend to buy him a beer. After ending the call with a muttered "stupid bitch" while tucking the device back in his pocket, he frowns over the price stickers like I knew he would. (Which is why I had been aiming him at one of the cheaper brands up to this point, but since he'd specified, what the hell. It was worth a shot.)

"Ah don't need a whole bottle just fer tonight."

The hell you don't, knuckle-dragger. You'd need a whole fifth on top of a couple pitchers minimum before some hard up bar-fly would let you touch them. I put the lube away and point out the sample packs.

Wonders never cease, I manage to talk him out of five bucks before he lumbers off to rupture some poor bastard's colon.

Token attempt

2008-03-20T20:53:00.000-07:00

It can be hard to predict how a given shift will go or just what will chance past the front door. The other night, a scraggly fellow marched up the register area as soon as he crossed the threshold and informed me he wished to "cash these in." Scarcely had the words escaped his lips than I heard the sound of metal hitting the floor, the unmistakable sound of metallic disks striking.

Excellent, he probably wasn't attempting a crack-hazed hold-up. He swore and bent over to collect his dropped change.

At the same time, once I caught what he said, I had a sharp suspicion this was going to be something for the blog. We have never carried anything that could be cashed in. I suppose he could have simply picked an odd way to request bills for spare change, so I waited until he deposited a small stack on the worn counter-top.

They weren't silver.

Alright, maybe the dingy bastard had somehow been handed some of those gold-hued dollar coins that crop up here and there. I scoop them up and immediately note a lack of heft. No bloody way these are legal tender. A split-second later, my gaze takes in the image struck into the face of the "coin". A jovial member of the species famed for conducting the Black Death throughout Europe and now shills mediocre pizza to snot-nosed crotch-crickets is smirking back at me.

How droll.

I set the tokens back in front of him and let the sarcasm serve as sauce to my words when I tell him nice try.

His hopeful expression crumbles like an over-the-hill Oliver Twist watching the Artful Dodger kick at the end of a tarred rope three feet off the ground. As he takes back his worthless trinkets, he then attempts to play the victim with a supposedly rueful statement that "they lied to him."

Perhaps "they" sell him on a falsehood; that we've all suffered a collective stroke to the degree we'll now exchange tokens for cash despite the fact nothing in the store uses tokens, I have never heard of any business that will redeem tokens for cash, and the token was made for a company that should NEVER be connected with pornography. I bet he'll protest to the end that "Sum Dood" took advantage of his good nature and innate honesty.

I gave him until the count of five to be off the premises.

Customers suck

2008-03-19T20:13:00.001-07:00

And lo I was working diligently at the counter when a wild-haired man drew near and addressed me.

“I was wondering if you would be able to help me.”

Sure thing, what can I do for you?

“Where are the most popular movies?”

No problem, they’re sitting on the shelves over there between the jocks and the preppies where they can be the center of attention as well as make sotto voce catty comments about the other movies. Be careful you don’t stray too close to the nerd shelves or you’ll totally ruin your reputation. I’d guide you right to them, but I have to keep the goth and emo movies from cutting themselves and getting black hair dye on everything. What sort of “popular” are you looking for? That could cover a lot of territory.

He graces me with an indulgent smile. “Let’s see. Beautiful girls, not teens, none of that amateur crap, good movies with none of that nasty crap, you know.”

Thank you, that cleared it right up for me. Truly you have an uncanny agility with words. Alright, I guess a lot of it depends on what you consider beautiful. Off the top of my head, I’d recommend looking for the big production companies. I stand up in preparation of listing out the names but he interjects in the delusion he’s being helpful.

“Maybe something with Jenna Jameson?”

The movies we have with Jenna are right here. I lead him to the stated section. Hopefully he’ll find something he wants to buy here and leave before the urge to slap him for being an idiot grows any stronger. On the other hand, as long as his tastes run to generic blondes with bad boob jobs he’ll never want for movies that appeal to him. I am not to be so lucky. He gives the titles a cursory glance before turning to me again.

“Where are the most popular ones?”

The newest ones we have in stock are in this section. I point it out. As for what might be “most popular”, your answer depends on who you ask. I beat a hasty retreat back to the counter in the hopes he’ll solve his own issues.

A couple minutes later, he takes note of the display case showing the current showings in the arcade.

“Where would I find those?”

Right there, they’re playing in the arcade.

“Are they for sale?”

Yes.

He ducks into the arcade. Approximately ten minutes later he reappears.

“Where would I get number twenty-four?”

That movie will come to exist in about the next month or so, give or take a couple days for quantum uncertainty. Too bad I didn’t say it was actually present in the store or better yet playing in the bloody arcade. Is that the one you want?

He nods.

I retrieve the DVD from the arcade’s innards and begin to ring him up.

“Oh, I just wanted to look at it. I’m not sure if I want to buy it.”

May your testes turn necrotic and your colon impact. I hand him the box so he can peruse it.

“Is it really that expensive? I’ve never bought a porn movie before, it seems kind of expensive.”

Adult movies tend to be more expensive than other types.

“Oh, maybe I’ll come in for it next week.”

He left before the vivid images of imbedding the disk into the back of his head like a shuriken could stray into action.