There are always situations, people or experiences that firmly keeps you humble and reminds where you stand in the joke that is the great reality tv show called life. Today I had such a moment. I recently started a new job. I will not name the title of the fine establishment due to a confidentiality agreement I signed when I was hired on. But let's just say it's a one stop shopping experience and it's not Walmart ( I believe the antichrist lives there).
As a new hire I've been going through training, and today was the day I was initiated, as the other guys in the backroom call it. I was assigned to the intimate apparel section of the store to learn the ins and outs of that department. The guys in the back smiled and started ribbing me about it. Telling me to enjoy my time in braville and don't look anybody in the eye. Maybe it was the fact that I grew up in a house full of women, but I really didn't see what the big deal was actually. I bid the guys adieu and made my way to the intimate apparel section vowing that I will carry on.
When I got to the intimate section I met a group of ladies happily separating ladies privies, unwrapping them and sorting them. I introduced myself and got to work. They told me that most men at the store avoid their section like a plague. I again was surprised. I mean really, I've done a heck of a lot worse than put a few bras away.
I got busy hanging bras up on the different racks. I was astonished at all the different sizes, colors, patterns and varieties there were just to do one job. It's like having different stylish forks to eat the same salad. I'm not complaining mind you, I'm all for you ladies to wrap your lady lumps in anything you want that makes you feel comfortable or saucey. You deserve it. But now as I look at you ladies I'm going to be constantly wondering, is she wearing the pink starburst Hanes push up bra? And my eyes will fixate at that part of your body as I try to figure it out, causing you to think I am some kind of creeper. When in all actuality I just have a case of taking my work home with me. So Don't judge me.
By the time I had moved to the nursing bras, that's a different set of questions all together now, the store had opened and we filled up with customers. This is when the guys told me it would get really bad. I was confused by that logic though. I mean if I was younger and single, like a lot of those guys in the back, I would love to work in this part of the store everyday. I mean what other part of the store will be full of nothing but ladies shopping for there personals and asking you for help. It's a Ron Jeremy dream job. And as I was coming to this realization the first lovely lady asked for my assistance. I put on my suave voice and said, "Can I help you?" She asked me, "Yes do you know where I can find the matching panties that go with this bra?" "Sure would you like to follow me?" As I began to lead her to the panties I began to hear in my mind, bow chica wow wow. And I felt the only thing that would make this scene any better is if I had a cheesy moustache, a buttoned down silk shirt and cognac in one hand. I felt like the porn pied piper. I was cool. After I helped her the ladies kept coming with questions and Rico Suave Schroeder kept helping them. I felt these other guys are morons, I'm going to work in this section everyday.
After lunch I returned to the intimates (As I will call them from now on followed by a wink and blow on a finger pistol before I shoot you with it.). We moved on to stocking the panty part of the floor. This is when most men would blush i guess, but not Rico Suave Schroeder. I embraced the shame. The lady told me to work a row of bins. I looked at them and said "Why is the silly string in the intimates, shouldn't it be in toys?" She said "No, those are thongs." Really, are you serious? Why even bother forking over $10 for something when all you have to do is get a cheap spool of yarn and cut a little off each day and wrap it around you. What does this stuff even cover? Because it sure doesn't cover modesty. But I didn't falter. I filled the silly string thong bin up with more silly string thongs and moved on. The next bin was filled with eye patches. Or as the lady called them modest thongs. As I was filling the bin contemplating how many pirate eyes this bin could cover it happened. A small boy, about 5 or 6, say's to his mom. "Why is that creepy old man playing with ladies under thingys?" I looked up and we locked eyes. That's when I remembered the guys earlier in the day saying "Whatever you do, don't look anybody in the eye." As I stared at this little boy with an awkward look holding a red thong like Jerry Sandusky being caught in the showers. His mother gasped and grabbed the boy off the floor and hurried him, by that I mean ran, out of the intimates leaving the shame to embrace me.