We had a condom breakage situation last week, which meant a trip to the old pharmacy for some Plan B. It was technically Jon’s turn to buy, but he was lagging and I didn’t want any little embryo thingies taking hold in my junk, so I hit the grocery store pharmacy whilst picking up some last minute necessities for a barbecue I was headed to. I was in a gigantic hurry and feeling a bit frazzled. There were 80 things on my to-do list and it seemed to be growing instead of shrinking. I was delighted to remember there was a pharmacy at the supermarket so that I wouldn’t have to make a separate trip to Walgreen’s. I approached the counter and was greeted warmly by the male pharmacist, a man in his mid- to late 50s. He asked how I was doing and what he could help me with. I told him that I needed Plan B. I swear, there was almost an audible record scratch. His entire demeanor changed. The smile was gone, no more affable chit chat, nothing. He wordlessly turned around and walked back through the stacks of drugs to get me what I needed.
As he walked back towards the register, he told me the price would be $47.60 plus tax. I said “eh, it’s cheaper than a kid.” Nothing. Didn’t even crack a smile. Come on, that’s at the least mildly amusing. But no, old Mr. Stoneface IThinkYou’reAWhore was giving me nothing. He rang me up and I paid in silence, seething. I wish I could say I gave him a piece of my mind, but I didn’t. Yes, I was in a hurry, but mostly, I was already in a hair-trigger type mood, and I try to refrain from lashing out at those times because some people claim I have a bit of an acid tongue on such occasions. I don’t like my verbal lashings to be written off as “overly emotional women” tripe, so I try (try being the operative word here) to make my points when I am more collected.
Collected is what I will be should I find myself needing to purchase Plan B in the future. Since hormonal methods of BC are out for me (yes, I know Plan B is a big dose of same, and it makes me sick and jacks my period all up, so regularly taking BC is ten times worse), an IUD is also not an option, though I tried, and Jon hasn’t gotten snipped yet, condoms are our method and things sometimes, though rarely, go awry, the likelihood of needing it again is high. One would think I would avoid the dickbag pharmacist in the future, but I plan on doing the exact opposite. If he wants to judge me, if he wants to make assumptions about my sex life, if he wants to make me feel as if minimizing my risk of an unwanted pregnancy is somehow immoral, than I will let him judge me. But I promise to give him good reason next time. For example:
“Hey, do you guys carry Plan B? You do? Great! It’s a good thing you don’t need to buy a pill for each person you fuck because I had so many dicks in me last night I’d go broke!”
or perhaps –
“Hi there, gonna need some Plan B. There really is nothing like bareback fucking a stranger, is there? Hopefully he didn’t have anything a strong round of antibiotics won’t kick! Although I must be building up a tolerance to those at this point…”
or maybe –
“Hello, I’d like to purchase some Plan B, please. And also some anti-itch cream. And some Vaseline. And Monistat. Can you think of anything better for vaginal chafing? Oh! Also! I can never remember, is it anal then vaginal or vaginal then anal? Do you know how to reduce poop issues with anal? Should I douche my butthole first? Or would an enema work better? Do you know of anything I can do to minimize queefing after particularly aerobic sex? Also, how dangerous is fisting? Could I do permanent damage to my hoohoo by letting my numerous sexual partners put vegetables in my holes? Could that be causing the yeast infections?”
Yeah, don’t fuck with me, Mr. Pharmacist. Don’t get up on your fucking high horse and attempt to make me feel like a “whore” or a “baby killer.” I am a married 34-year-old woman who just so happens to not want children, not that it is any of your goddamn business. But even if I was out there slutting it up (which trust me, I was before got married and it was awesome), it is, again, none of your fucking business. If you can’t treat a perfectly pleasant paying customer with some respect when they request an item you sell, perhaps you should find another line of work. In the meantime, I have a little something for you. Here you go –
and just in case that wasn’t clear
Also, suck it.