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Monthly Archives: July 2010

You probably think that the reason I get a bunch of creepers is because I work mostly nights. You silly, silly goose. You are sorely mistaken.

I work 4 shifts a week, and three of them are night. Lately, I’ve been exclusively at night while I was taking a few summer courses. Now that they’re finished, I picked up my one midday shift again, from 1p-5p. I can confidently say that the creepers are just as prevalent in the daytime as they are at night.

Take yesterday, for instance. Just after Neoboss left for the day, around 2, a older dude walks in. Heavyset, suspenders, big mustache, the whole nine yards, probably between 55-60. He had a plastic bag with some groceries in it (a usual occurrence, since we’re right next door to a grocery store) and left it up near the counter while he browsed through magazines. He would flip through a couple pages, glance at me, then read a few more pages, then another glance, and continued on in this manner for a good fifteen minutes. This isn’t uncommon; lots of dudes check to see if I’m watching them or something, since they all think I’m judging them for perusing this month’s issue of Beaver Hunt. Most of the time, I’m not, and I leave them be while they read to do my own thing.

Older Dude finishes browsing, comes up to collect his grocery bag, and the following happens:

Older Dude: glancing between my boobs and face. “You wouldn’t happen to be in any of these here magazines, now, would ya?”

PSG: Hey guy, the face is up here. “Nope.”

Older Dude, now leering: “Well, that’s a durn shame.”

As he walked out, I realized all that glancing was probably him filing me away in his Spank Bank. BRB, VOMITING.

Take now one customer I call Twitchy MacGoogle. He’s real pale with that flat, no-color hair, and super twitchy. Twitch walks in for the first time one afternoon, twitching merrily away and looking through the porn. He comes up and asks about sex video games. This also is not uncommon; there used to be a pretty popular sex video game, similar in operation to The Sims. Only sexy, apparently. We don’t carry it, but we do have a handful of people who ask about it.

Twitchy MacGoogle: “Do you have, um, sex games? You know, for Playstation?”

PSG: “Nope, sorry, just videos. You could try looking on the internet, though.”

Twitchy MacGoogle: “What about, um, for the computer? Any computer games?”

PSG: Dude, I just said, only videos. Way to use  your ears. “No sir, I’m sorry, we don’t carry video games of any kind. You’d probably have to look online for that sort of thing.”

Twitchy MacGoogle: “Oh. *long pause while he twitches away and processes this* Well, um, what website can I order those from?”

PSG: “I’m not really sure. Try Googling it, that would be your best bet.”

Twitchy MacGoogle: “Try what? What website?”

PSG: I talk kinda fast and sometimes stumble over my words, so I repeat myself clearly. “You know, Google. Try searching on there for sex games.”

Twitchy MacGoogle: Slowly and twitchily, like the word is foreign to him. “Goo…..gle? What’s that?”

PSG: ….What. “Google.com? The search engine?”

Twitchy MacGoogle: Blinks and twitches. No response.

PSG: You have GOT to be kidding me. “It’s a search website.  You go to google.com and type in what you’re looking for, and it’ll find pages that are about that subject.”

Twitchy MacGoogle: “Wow, that’s awesome! Can you write that down for me so I remember it?”

He then proceeded to study that slip of paper as intently as a surgeon performing a brain transplant. Then he walked around in circles, talking to himself for ten minutes. I couldn’t understand what he was saying, but every once in a while he’d look at the paper again, trying to memorize along with his ramblings.

First world porn problems. They exist.

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I mentioned awhile back that I have a Formspring account (http://www.formspring.me/pornshopgirl). There’s a couple questions I got there that are worth expanding further on here.

Q: “I get off more when I’m playing with my clit with a vibrator than when I’m having sex with my boyfriend. He thinks I am  no longer attracted to him when really it’s that I am discovering a new part of my sexuality and anatomy. How can I make him understand?”

Lady, you are not alone in the LEAST. I see entirely too many couples walking in, the woman looking irritated with her husband, and the man looking surly as hell. I ring them up, asking if they need lube or toy cleaner or whatnot, and the man immediately says “No. Don’t even see why she needs this stupid fuckin’ thing, if I’m here.” This is a common occurrence. Dudes? CHILL THE FUCK OUT. First off, anatomy lesson: if a woman’s clitoris is more than a few mere millimeters from her vagina, chances are, she’ll have difficulty getting off from straight P-in-the-V sex alone. By all means, not all women are like this- everyone’s different- but many women are. Men, you’re not inadequate and she’s not replacing you with a robotic dick. Women, there’s nothing wrong with you and there is no shame in needing a little help when you’re gettin’ your groove on. A lot of people fail to see that for many, sex and masturbation are two VERY different things. Sex is more about connecting with another person on the most intimate level possible. Masturbation is purely about getting off. It’s not selfish, it’s not sinful, and you’re not gonna grow hairy palms- it’s normal and natural. As I said, everyone is different- sex might be just about getting off, for lots of people. That’s okay too, whatever tickles your pickle or makes your clam jam.

There’s an easy way to solve the man’s jealousy and the woman’s guilt- look for stimulation you can enjoy together. There are incredibly simple techniques- just using your partner’s fingers and a little lube- or there are any number of toys that can be used together. Vibrating cockrings are fantastic for this purpose: the ring can keep Tarzan’s vine a-swingin’ a little stronger and longer, and the vibrations will give Jane’s jungle a thrill. There’s also many very small bullet vibrators that women can use on themselves during sex.  There are so many ways that can keep all parties happy; it’s just a matter of finding one that suits you. And by all means, don’t feel like you have to stop masturbating. That’s entirely healthy, and if your man (or woman!) can’t handle it, show them the door.

Next question!

Q: What’s the best advice about sex you’ve received? Worst?

I forget who gave me the best advice, but it’s the best all the same: waiting for marriage isn’t necessary, but you should wait for someone who cares deeply about you. As with EVERY sex situation, what’s good for one might be crap for another. I know several people who lost it during one-night-stands they never saw again, and they’re perfectly happy with that. That’s TOTALLY fine. From what I can tell, lots of people, while they look forward to it immensely, are scared shitless to do the dirty for the first time. You’re a lot more likely to enjoy things if you’re feeling safe with someone you care about, who you know for sure won’t sneak out the back door while you’re in the shower. The same goes for when the going gets rough- if your protection fails and a bun starts baking in the oven, or you get a little itch downstairs, do you really want the added stress of trying to track down Mr/Ms Right Now? I’m of the opinion that you don’t have to be hitched to get down to business, but being comfortable with the person is a must.

The worst advice? From every women’s magazine ever- faking an orgasm is okay. NEVER NEVER NEVER FAKE IT. That’s a horrible base for a sexual relationship. Think about it: if you fake it, your partner assumes that what they were doing will get you off. They keep doing it during sex, you keep faking it, and you get no sexual relief. That’s got frustration, lies, tension, and explosion written all over it- and not the good kind of explosion, either.  Like with the first question, there’s no shame in not having an orgasm. The destination is fun, but the journey there can be a hell of a time, too.

On a further note, if you’re waiting for marriage- for either religious, safety, or whatever reasons- high fives to you, seriously! Don’t be pressured into doing anything you’re not comfortable with, and kudos to your likely Herculean efforts of restraining your libido.

Got a question? Ask pornshopgirl:

http://www.formspring.me/pornshopgirl

Like I’ve said before, it’s no secret that my mom hates me working at the porn shop. Every time I talk about working there, even a mention in passing, she heaves a heavy sigh and says meaningfully, “You know, I REALLY don’t like you working there.” She and my dad refuse to call it the porn shop…it’s either “that store” or “the adult store”. It doesn’t bug me in the least, parents are parents. I probably wouldn’t want my kid working here, either.

That being said, my other job is considerably less porny. I work at a radio station; it was my major in college and I’m planning on pursuing it as a career. My “day job”, if you will.  Along with DJing and scheduling music and whatnot, I’m also asked to voice commercials sometimes. The production director handed me a script a few days ago, and after reading, I couldn’t WAIT to tell my mom just to get a rise out of her. I sent the following text message that morning:

PSG: Since my pornshop job isn’t giving you enough gray hairs, I figured I should warn you that I’m now the voice of a stripper in a commercial on the radio.

Mom: ROFLMAO

I called her when I got off work a few hours later just to catch up and stuff (yes I call my momma regularly, don’t even hate) and we got around to my text message:

PSG: Oh yeah, so my stripper commercial!

Mom: Yeah, what’s that all about now?

PSG: Well the production director has me voice commercials sometimes, and he got one in for the strip joint 20 minutes from here and asked me to be in it.

Mom: What did you  have to do?

PSG: Oh, you know, seduce local men. *sexy voice* Hey fellas, come out to [strip club] for a good time! Wednesdays are FANTASY NIGHTS!  *back to regular voice* I’m sorry  my life choices horrify you.

Mom: *cracks up laughing*

While my job might make her uncomfortable, at least she can get a laugh out of it sometimes.

A cute middle-aged couple walked in. The husband was perfectly at ease, while the wife was clearly embarrassed. They spent around half an hour in the store. Shy Wife was completely mortified when I came up and asked if they needed help, but Loud Hubby was full of questions and these hilarious gems:

Loud Hubby: “Do you  have any wireless vibrators that we can use together? I want to embarrass her in public even more than usual!”

PSG: “Well, we have these wireless vibrating panties over here, they have-”

Loud Hubby: “WOAH, those are awesome! Baby, look! They have this thing that goes up your hoo-ha, and a remote for me! We’ll be all at a fancy party, and you’ll be like, ‘Oh sir, nice to– *buzz buzz* OH GOD!”

Shy Wife: looks completely shocked, shakes her head weakly, and scurries away

Loud Hubby: “How about lube? You got any good flavored ones?”

PSG: “Yup, this Swiss Navy brand here, it’s made by a food manufacturer and not a toy maker, so it tastes like what it’s supposed to and doesn’t have a plasticky taste.”

Loud Hubby: samples the tester Passionberry lube, “Wow! Honey, we should get this, it’ll taste like my dick is a grape tree!”

Shy Wife: Goes bright red, smacks her hand on her forehead like she can’t believe this is happening, scurries away once more.

PSG: While ringing up their purchases, “Will you be  needing any condoms tonight?”

Loud Hubby: Cheerfully, “Oh, you’re so sweet, but no thanks! Got me the snip-snip so I can blow my load in her all I want!”

PSG and Shy Wife: Stare at each other wide-eyed in shock for a minute, then both crack up laughing.

A few minutes later when we composed ourselves, they left hand in hand, Loud Hubby swinging the bag cheerfully and Shy Wife still laughing. I should’ve asked if he has a younger brother, because that was easily the funniest thing that happened all week.

The telephone is a magnificent invention, but when you work in a porn shop, most days it just makes you wanna kick Alexander Graham Bell in the nuts.

PSG: “Good evening, thank you for calling [pornshop], how can I help you?”

Drunkenly slurring gruff voice: “Yeah, how much is ya’ll’s cover?”

PSG: “I’m sorry?”

Gruff dude: “Your cover charge, how much is the cover charge?”

PSG: “Sir, I’m sorry, we’re an adult DVD and novelty store, not a strip club.”

Gruff dude, calling to buddy in background: “THEY AIN’T A STRIP CLUB, WHERE WE SUPPOSED TO GO SEE GIRLS? I WANNA SEE TITTIESSSSSSS, WHERE CAN WE GOOOOOOOO–*click*”

The internet, so there’s no chance of breeding.

PSG: “Good evening, thank you for calling [pornshop].”

Irritated woman: “Yes, I bought this vibrator from you, and it stopped working. I’d like to return it.”

PSG: It’s been in your vagoo. FUCK NO. “I’m sorry ma’am, we don’t take returns, it’s store policy.”

Even more irritated Woman: “What?! But it stopped working! While I was using it! You HAVE to take it back!”

PSG: I can’t, because it’s fucking nasty and I don’t want your cooter cooties. “I’m sorry ma’am, but it’s a biohazard, we can’t allow used items in the store.”

Impossibly irritated Woman: “But I’ve washed it and everything!”

Maybe, but Dial won’t wash off the Herp.

PSG: “Hello, thank you for calling [pornshop].”

Nervous Woman: “Um, hello. How much do the, ah, young men charge for, um, lap dances?”

PSG: “I’m sorry, ma’am, we’re not a porn store, we’re an adult DVD and nov-”

Now furious Woman: “FUCK! –*click*”

Hi there, overreaction!

—-

PSG: “Hello, thanks for calling [pornshop].”

Chipper dude: “Hello there, miss! I don’t mean to be rude, but would it be alright if I asked you a personal question?”

PSG: “I…guess so?”

Chipper dude: “Are you single?”

PSG:  “…What?”

Alarmingly chipper Dude: “Yeah, are you single?”

PSG: “Um…I don’t feel comfortable discussing such personal matters with customers…”

Still creepily chipper: “Okay, thanks! You have a good night, dear! –*click*”

…what the fuck.

PSG: “Hi, this is [pornshop].”

Gangsta Thug: “Yo, how much is yo VIP room? Ya know, where the private dances and shit hap-”

PSG: “NO TITS HERE, KBYE–*click*”

All of these phone calls (with the exception of my response to the very last one, ‘cos I got bills to pay) have actually taken place. Seriously. You can’t make this shit up, people.