C is for Condoms

For A-Z April, my C entry. The story is stranger than this, but this was the end result.

I went to the gas station and took deep breaths. I felt like a teen fulfilling an awkward dare. Instead I was a 30 year old fulfilling an awkward dare. We never really grew up.

I was hungry and didn’t want to cook, so I picked up a crappy sub from the BP. Roast beef. My spirits were high, and this sub would be used to hide my shame.

Hygenic items were in high demand in this area, it seemed. The second end cap, which you had to walk past, had toothpaste, floss, shampoo, and Trojans. Half the display consisted of condoms. I took a deep breath. It was just me and a kid behind the counter.

I almost bought condoms before. My girlfriend waved them in my face, but we put them back. We should have bought them.

This time nothing was riding on it. There was no sex. No chance to catch a disease or sire a bastard. It was just an experience I never went through.

The kid behind the counter looked about 16. A little chubby and baby-faced. His eyes went wide when the purple box hit the table. He looked at me with concern and admiration. I could see it behind his eyes, “This dude is getting laid.”

I acted as best I could, like I had done it before. He fumbled with the condoms and they scanned. “Man, don’t know where the code is, but it scanned.” I felt a little like bathroom rules should be in effect. You don’t talk to me during this. You keep your eyes down. I keep your eyes down. In theory you’re holding something I’m putting on my penis and sticking in a woman. You don’t tell me you’re having a hard time finding the spot.

I choked out a laugh, paid the money, and went home. I opened the box, admired the weight of each individual wrap, and went to eat my sub and play Pokemon for the rest of the night.

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10 responses to “C is for Condoms

  1. If it makes you feel any better, I still feel awkward buying tampons… my eldest son works in a factory that makes them. How ironic is that?
    By the way, how much stranger is this story?

    • Maybe stranger isn’t the right word. Juvenile? I think that sums it up much better. Though it is very strange having these in my apartment. I feel like Golum and if anyone sees them, I’ll be judged and shunned, and they’ll take away my precious. Not that I’m that tied to them, but I paid for them and they don’t expire for two years. I feel throwing them away would be wasteful.

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