I was eating lunch with John a few days ago and complaining.
“Nothing interesting happens when you’re not working,” I said. “I have nothing to talk about. I am boring.”
Oh, famous last words.
(Heads up: what I’m about to tell you veers dangerously into TMI territory. If you’re the squeamish type, best turn away now.)
Recently, as I mentioned, I was diagnosed with a sinus infection. Sinus infections mean antibiotics. Antibiotics do many good things (like cure sinus infections), but they also do some not so good things (like reducing the efficacy of certain once-daily medications designed to prevent babies). So when one is on antibiotics it’s best, if one is not in the baby-making business, to call in some backup protection.
So I needed to make a trip to CVS.
Mercifully, our local CVS has a self-checkout line, to minimize human interaction. Now look, I realize I’m a full-grown married adult and should feel no embarrassment whatsoever about making such a purchase. But seriously, who wouldn’t avail themselves of a self-checkout line when one’s entire purchase consists of items of the prophylactic variety?
So I made my selection, checked myself out, put my CVS bag inside my purse, and went on my merry way.
On the way home, I decided to stop by a store in our neighborhood to check out fall sweaters. Innocuous, no? I walked in right as another woman was walking out, and as we passed, the store’s metal detectors went “beepbeepbeepbeepbeep” the way they do when they forget to take the tags off something. The store associate came over, checked the woman’s bag, saw it was all fine and there were no errant plastic security tags, and let her go.
I browsed sweaters, decided they were all frumpy looking, and made for the exit. As I walked through the metal detectors, it happened again: “beepbeepbeepbeepbeep!”
“I don’t have anything!” I say. “It beeped on my way in, too, I don’t know why.”
And then I realize: there’s a substantial number of college kids who frequent our local CVS, and to prevent shoplifting of products popular with college kids, CVS puts those magnetic anti-theft stickers on a lot of their more valuable, oft-shoplifted items.
Items like condoms.
“Really!” I tell the sales associate who’s coming over. “I don’t have anything from this store!”
“Ma’am, I’m going to have to look in your bag,” she said.
“No, truly, I didn’t take anything. Didn’t you hear the thing beep as I came in?”
“Ma’am: your bag,” she said again, holding out her hand.
“I know what it is that’s beeping, it’s just something I bought at CVS. I swear to you.”
“Show me,” she says.
“Um,” I say. “I’d really rather not.”
“Then I’m going to have to look in your bag.”
“Um, okay, fine.” I reach into my purse and hand her the CVS bag.
She opens the bag, and her eyes widen a little, and she giggles. She walks through the metal detector holding the box, and sure enough, “beepbeepbeepbeepbeep!”
“Alright, ma’am, you’re fine,” she says, barely holding back her laughter. “Go on ahead.”
“See?” I said. “Not a shoplifter, just a responsible adult.”
I grabbed the box from her, stuffed it back in my bag, and made a hasty exit. I can only imagine the laugh that the sales associates had at my expense.
