Adventures in Sex Toy Stores

I traversed to the nearest sex toy shop in my neighborhood this afternoon. I even had my sexy boy in tow. Melting slush was everywhere, in my wheel-wells, covering the busy streets of downtown Minneapolis. Lucky it was soft and disintegrating fast, which = easy to drive through. Bonus for me! w00t-w00t! And it was a Monday too. Life was good this afternoon. I was on a mission you see, to buy the latest issue of Playgirl (for professional reasons of course....).

As I rolled into the shop, I looked all around, taking it in. Usually when I go to a sex toy shop (which isn't often I swear! ha) one of the first things I do is assimilate the room: See who's there, see who's NOT there (even more important), see who's most likely to stare at me ("Take that you fool! Gimpy girls enjoy porn too, you a-hole!"), etc. As a young, attractive woman in powerchair driving around a somewhat seedy sex toy store, you just never know how people are going to react. I don't care how "Blue" your city or state is, most people - no matter how Liberal - are never fully-awares of the disabled individual's "Yes It's Existent!" sexuality. Lucky for me, my luck continued inside the store. It was 1pm on a Monday and the store was deader than the hospital in the opening scene of "28 Days Later." I was relieved. We quickly found the January issue of Playgirl in the Gay Porn section (of course) then made our way to the cashier.

Here's where the funny part comes in: I quickly discovered the superior customer service that is to be found at my local sex toy store. Who would've thought <insert shocked tone here>. I had called an hour earlier you see, merely inquiring the existence of Playgirl in the store and if the store was open. That was it. I didn't say I was definitely coming in or anything of that nature. But sure as shit, the Emo-punk boy manning the check-out counter had my January issue already up at the front, waiting for me in a discreet paper bag. I was tickled pink and gave the dude my prettiest smile, much to my boy's chagrin. Whether or not the fact that my presence in the store shocked any of the employees is still unknown. They were either shocked that the sultry over the voice belonged to a chick in a wheelchair (and hid it very well), or they could've given a flying f$!% that I was in a wheelchair in the first place. I reaaally hope for my own confidence-in-the-everyday-man that it was the latter. I mean, wouldn't you?