We’re Going to Need a Glass Pipe and a Protractor

Carlisle, Rok, Nuke, and Nuke’s boyfriend (Scrappy) were all hanging out with me in the store last night, but we could barely hear each other, on account of the music from the bar was blasting at skull-shattering levels. So when Carlisle said something about bubble bath (which made sense in context), everyone else went, “Bubble meth? The hell is bubble meth? How would you even do bubble meth?!

Well, everyone except me, because I was all, “Bubble math? The hell is bubble math? How would you even do bubble math?!”

The point here is that Rok and Nuke have terrible drug problems, whereas I will never stop being a Liberal Arts major.

Hey, want another solvent story? Of course you do.

Customer: [pointing to his straight female friend] “Do you carry butt plugs? She wants a butt plug.”

Me: “No. We do not carry butt plugs.”

Straight Female Friend: “Where could we find a butt plug?”

Me: “Well, you could try [sleazy store] or [sleazier store].”

Customer: “What about poppers? Do you sell poppers?”

Me: “We do not sell poppers, but we do sell solvents and polish removers.”

Customer: [dejected] “Oh. Okay, then.” [leaves]

Rok yelled, “SOLVENTS ARE THE SAME THING” as they walked out the door, but they didn’t hear him. I blame the music.

You know what would be funny, though? If, in a couple of months, one of them accidentally spills nail polish all over the place, and the other goes, “Quick! To the Forge!” If that happens, I’m totally going to be like, “Oh, sorry, guys. We only sell poppers.”

A Privilege Carol

Straight Girl: [across the store] “Hey.”

Me: [at the register, to the customer in front of me] “Your total is $70.35.”

Straight Girl: “HEY.”

Me: [to the customer in front of me] “Ok, you’re all set. Have a good night.” [then, to her]  “May I help you?”

Straight Girl: “So this [pointing to a union suit] is for men, and that [pointing to a leather miniskirt] is for women?”

[Inner Me: Gender-specific dress codes are outdated social constructs designed to oppress both cis women and individuals on the nonbinary spectrum.]

Me: “Yes.”

Straight Girl: “Well, why is the ladies’ stuff so revealing, while the men’s stuff covers everything?”

[Inner Me: You speak in too many italics.]

Me: “Union suits are very revealing.”

Straight Girl: [arms crossed; one brow raised confrontationally]

Me: [winning smile]

Straight Girl: [rolls eyes, flounces away]

I do appreciate the chutzpah it took to bow up in a gay bar and accuse the guy selling cock rings of objectifying women, but the fact that she did so while standing next to a display of tear-away codpieces kinda, y’know, bled the blister from her bluster.

Later in the evening, I overheard a Ripcord patron politely but firmly ask her to please stay out of the men’s room. She seemed affronted by that. I can only imagine how quickly her devastating Yelp review will shut this place down.

Waiting to Inhale

Customer: “Which of these solvents is your favorite?”

Me: “You know, I don’t use them myself.”

Customer: “You don’t use solvents?”

Me: “Nah.”


Me: “I use straight-up paint thinner.”

Customer: [leaves quickly]

One of these days, I’ll finally accept that my terribly droll flavor of sarcastic wit is not to everyone’s delicate taste.

But oh, trust, I am huge in France.

Huge. Trust.

Solvent for X

Customer: “Hi, I just need a bottle of poppers.” [to his boyfriend] “Which poppers would you like?”

Me: “We actually don’t sell poppers.”

Customer: “You don’t?”

Me: “We don’t. But we do carry solvents and polish removers.”

Customer: “OH. Right.” [to his boyfriend] “Which not-poppers would you like?”

Part of me wanted to backhand him, but considering all the “Definitely Not a Raffle” ads I’ve created for Misfits fundraisers, I’ll just give him a respectable B- for effort.

Binding the Coverage

Customer: [holding up a leather armband] “Is this an armband?”

Me: “Yes, it is.”

Customer: “Oh.” [immediately tries to put it on as a collar] “It feels like a neck brace. I can’t move my head.” [to the friend who came in with him] “I’M GONNA FUCK YOU SO HARD, WE’RE GONNA HAVE TO EXCHANGE INSURANCE INFORMATION.”

Friend: “…”

Customer: “Did you get a picture of that?”

Friend: “No.”

Customer: “Okay, I’ll do it again.” [directly into friend’s camera] “I’M GONNA FUCK YOU SO HARD, WE’RE GONNA HAVE TO EXCHANGE INSURANCE INFORMATION. Did you get it that time?”

Friend: “I got it on video.”

Customer: “Send it to me. That is some FUNNY SHIT. But don’t put it on Facebook — my mom is trying to help my aunt die and would not appreciate it.”

And see, if I were trying to kill off a conservative relative via social media, a viral GIF of my drunk son screaming obscenities in a fetishwear shop would probably get the job done efficiently. Unless she doesn’t have insurance, in which case it would just be gloating. Way to kick a girl when she’s already on her way down, you monster.

Paris is Here, Wish You Were Beautiful

Customer 1: “I like these onesies!”

Customer 2: “So do I!”

Customer 1: “I need a small. What size do you wear?”

Customer 2: “I probably need a small too.”

Customer 1: [suddenly aggressive] “A small? Really? You think you can fit in a small? You honestly think you need a small, like me? Okay, fine, let’s see you in a small, and oh, look, there’s a dressing room. Get in.”

Customer 2: “Um, okay.”

Customer 1: “And here’s a large. If we put you in a small, you’ll be a Santa ho-ho.”

Customer 2: “Yeah, thanks for size-shaming me…”

A few points of information here.

a) Customer 2 needs new friends.

b) Customer 1 needs a medium. (The fit is based on height, not weight.)

c) Size-shaming is repugnant, and any gay man who size- or body-shames any other gay man deserves to get stabbed in the eye with a fork.

d) “Santa ho-ho” is the lamest insult in the history of throwing shade. The entire cast of Paris is Burning has been alerted and will be here any minute to destroy him, while Customer 2 and I eat popcorn and giggle.