...I had no idea what I was looking at within those jewel like cases of glass, housing every conceivable brain storm of sexual toys or what I bashfully referred to as 'marital aids'. Ben-wa balls--two plastic spheres connected on a string, dongs in every imaginable variety--suction cupped bases, flesh coloured, pink, black, see-through jelly, double headed dongs, 6", 7", 8" and 9"--essentially all prostetic penises, something called the tongue--which was promoted in what looked like 1960's kaytel info-mercial boxes, anal beads--basically little plastic balls on a string, butt plugs--triple ripple butt plugs--these had to have been jokes as there was no way one could cram that up their ass, gelatin penis sleeves, extensions, strap ons, delay spray, china brush, multi-speed vibrators. My mind whirled over and over thinking my skull would explode from sensory and stimuli overload.
I considered once again to dash out the door and resisted, trying to prove something to myself. I clung onto the theory that I wasn't a quitter. I'd take this job if it was all that was available. I'd be damned if I was going to succumb to the pogey stereotype of a free-loader. I'd also be fucked if I was going to remain the same timid, shy, perpetually single chronic masturbator that all my ex's claimed I was horribly boring, linear or dull in bed. No way in hell the god damned buck stopped here and I was going to embrace this underdog environment and give it the best positive spin there could be. I think it was in my own mind at that very moment the acronym ASS CREW or All Satisfying Sex Can Render Everyone Wonderstruck was conceived. This brainchild took some time to nurture, develop and mould mind you but I was not going to feel like a nobody for the rest of my life. My days of being useless were over. Little did I know the days of being ostracized, aliennated and horribly misunderstood were merely beginning.
"Sorry 'bout that Dan, you'll have to excuse me.. ... been running on a skeleton crew here last couple of days.' Mitch extended his hand, gave it mine a good squeeze. I liked that a sign of assertion. Yet the temptation to wipe my hand vigorously on my pants were nearly irresistible. "So you want to work for the Adult Emporium, very good Searle... tell me a little bit about yourself..."
"Well first off Mitch, thank you in advance for the opportunity in this interview, but first thing is first, the name is Dave," Shocked I searched the confines of the porn store wondering exactly whom was bellowing this baritone of confidence. Perhaps even more surprised I was at realizing it was me.
(con'd)
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Mammon of Miscreants IV
If there was ever a retail twilight zone, clearly I'd stepped over the threshold and directly into the eye of the depraved. Truly a screaming stereotype of what a porno shop was, I was like a babe vulnerable within the confines of a perverse carnival. Walking down the dark, dingy corrider I glimpsed upon video box covers among the hundreds roughly the size of your standard 8 1/2" x 11" sheet of paper. Shamelessly illuminated on these surfaces were every preference, taste, fetish, fantasy of filth imaginable.
Each of my steps were slower, seemingly trudging through bewildered and awe-struck quicksand. My conscience told me to pay no attention, yet it was like a hideous wreck passed on the highway where you cannot fix your gaze away. The further I delved the more debaucherous the scenery became. Gang bangs, orgies, freaks of nature, my first dose of hardcore homosexual imagery shocked and turned my nervous, empty stomach seeing a copious pool of ejaculate drizzle from a pretty boy's face as he had a cock mere inches from his nose roughly the size of my forearm.
The vibe I felt within this eccentric emporium was one of nervousness and near skittish behaviour. I nearly bumped into a man with shifty eyes concealed behind pop bottle glasses and a greasy mop to match as my continously adjusted his spaghetti stained track pants. Turning the corner I was vaguely proud of myself for going through this, yet something told me to run and run like the wind. On a particle board shelving unit a collection of 3D movies and glasses caused me to bulge my eyes in disbelief, recalling the previous spectacle was already one dimension beyond what I was prepared to see.
Toys with grainy photograped covers with sleazy, cheesy catch phrases inhabited the shelf beneath. Apparently an inflatable doll called the 'Rich Bitch': "An uptown girl with downtown tastes." In spite of my anxiety I laughed heartily. At least two jittery customers jumped and scattered towards the back door, thinking I was laughing at their expense. Wow this was some hyper-sensetive environment. I felt my ears burn from blushing such a crimson red. Looking down at the bristle-less grey rug, I took another deep breath and wondered what a viewing room was and tried my best to ignore the venomous screeches and squeals from beyond the door.
Approaching the main showroom I was somewhat relieved things looked more professional and out in the open. Three glass show cases shaped in an L fashion housed the behind the counter area. Thousands open thousands of cassettes were stored there, a library to correpsond with the mesmerizing films showcased. Behind the counter clacking away on a dot matrix computer was perhaps the loudest, larger than life stereo type within the whole facility. All of about 5'2" and 85lbs soaking wet stood a fraile and malnutritioned yet peppy and bubbly clerk. He was entering the VHS movies into the system and grimaced from time to time. Sporting what I call an old school Hulk Hogan hairdo, he was as bald as the day he was born up top and desperatly clinging onto any folciles at the back in the form of a dirty blonde, scraggily pony tail.
Steadying my shakng hands and clearing my throat, I stepped aside from the bargin bin, which boasted 1 for $14.95, 2 for $12.95 eac and 3 for $9.95 each, even the spine of each title appeared to be even more outrageous than the product on the floor.
"Excuse me?" I asked in a soft tone.
"Aw yes searle, what can I do you for today," responding in his spontaneous on the surface, yet transparently rehearsed speech I knew before asking this was the Mitch Savoy I was supposed to meet. Was I actually supposed to respect this guy?
"I'm here to see Mr. Savoy. I have a 10:00 appointment."
"Ohhh riiiight. Dan is it? Sooo you're the little pervert that's going to save this store," he grinned and flashed tobacoo stained corn niblet like smile. I was a touch caught off guard how he could look at me yet look in two different directions at the same time. Something about this guy was off, way off.
"It's Dave actually, Dave Gammon? We spoke on the phone an-" cutting me off he laughed an uproaringly offensive, brash laugh and beckoned him to give him just two shakes and he'd be right with me. I was amazed to find myself replying politely, sure thing and proceeded to browze within the showcases, having no idea what it was I was looking at.
-Con'd-
Each of my steps were slower, seemingly trudging through bewildered and awe-struck quicksand. My conscience told me to pay no attention, yet it was like a hideous wreck passed on the highway where you cannot fix your gaze away. The further I delved the more debaucherous the scenery became. Gang bangs, orgies, freaks of nature, my first dose of hardcore homosexual imagery shocked and turned my nervous, empty stomach seeing a copious pool of ejaculate drizzle from a pretty boy's face as he had a cock mere inches from his nose roughly the size of my forearm.
The vibe I felt within this eccentric emporium was one of nervousness and near skittish behaviour. I nearly bumped into a man with shifty eyes concealed behind pop bottle glasses and a greasy mop to match as my continously adjusted his spaghetti stained track pants. Turning the corner I was vaguely proud of myself for going through this, yet something told me to run and run like the wind. On a particle board shelving unit a collection of 3D movies and glasses caused me to bulge my eyes in disbelief, recalling the previous spectacle was already one dimension beyond what I was prepared to see.
Toys with grainy photograped covers with sleazy, cheesy catch phrases inhabited the shelf beneath. Apparently an inflatable doll called the 'Rich Bitch': "An uptown girl with downtown tastes." In spite of my anxiety I laughed heartily. At least two jittery customers jumped and scattered towards the back door, thinking I was laughing at their expense. Wow this was some hyper-sensetive environment. I felt my ears burn from blushing such a crimson red. Looking down at the bristle-less grey rug, I took another deep breath and wondered what a viewing room was and tried my best to ignore the venomous screeches and squeals from beyond the door.
Approaching the main showroom I was somewhat relieved things looked more professional and out in the open. Three glass show cases shaped in an L fashion housed the behind the counter area. Thousands open thousands of cassettes were stored there, a library to correpsond with the mesmerizing films showcased. Behind the counter clacking away on a dot matrix computer was perhaps the loudest, larger than life stereo type within the whole facility. All of about 5'2" and 85lbs soaking wet stood a fraile and malnutritioned yet peppy and bubbly clerk. He was entering the VHS movies into the system and grimaced from time to time. Sporting what I call an old school Hulk Hogan hairdo, he was as bald as the day he was born up top and desperatly clinging onto any folciles at the back in the form of a dirty blonde, scraggily pony tail.
Steadying my shakng hands and clearing my throat, I stepped aside from the bargin bin, which boasted 1 for $14.95, 2 for $12.95 eac and 3 for $9.95 each, even the spine of each title appeared to be even more outrageous than the product on the floor.
"Excuse me?" I asked in a soft tone.
"Aw yes searle, what can I do you for today," responding in his spontaneous on the surface, yet transparently rehearsed speech I knew before asking this was the Mitch Savoy I was supposed to meet. Was I actually supposed to respect this guy?
"I'm here to see Mr. Savoy. I have a 10:00 appointment."
"Ohhh riiiight. Dan is it? Sooo you're the little pervert that's going to save this store," he grinned and flashed tobacoo stained corn niblet like smile. I was a touch caught off guard how he could look at me yet look in two different directions at the same time. Something about this guy was off, way off.
"It's Dave actually, Dave Gammon? We spoke on the phone an-" cutting me off he laughed an uproaringly offensive, brash laugh and beckoned him to give him just two shakes and he'd be right with me. I was amazed to find myself replying politely, sure thing and proceeded to browze within the showcases, having no idea what it was I was looking at.
-Con'd-
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Mammon of Miscreants III
I stood outside the Adult Emporium's (fictional name to protect the jaded and oblivious) rear entrance. Incidentally Mitch thought this was just the wittiest slice play on words there ever was. Gazing at the pink, steel door I took a deep breath, attempting to attain some composure. If I didn't get a job like this, surely I'd have to blow my brains out or go live in the secluded woods somewhere, evidently not having what it takes to cope within society.
My hands shook, no scratch that trembled beyond reason. Upon my brow, sweat permiated profusely. My mouth grew dry as an arid desert even though my glands were working over time. At least three times I turned around and got back in my car as I was way too early. My nervous neurosis refused to let up. I was anxious about the job naturally. I was frenzied over being in a porno-type environment. I mean what kind of clientele were to shop there anyway? Clearly they'd have to be some sort of raging sex lunatics. What would these lunatics think of me? They'd formulate all these assumptions about the guy behind the counter being the ultimate pervert, sick twisted and fit to be institutionalized. They'd likely egg me on and antagonize me, accuse me of being a perpetual masterbater. I'd probably be ostracized and isolated worse than ever before in my life! Did I really have the cahonas to go through with this.
My first wave of nausea swept over me and if I'd had any breakfast that day it'd be all over the underground parking lot by now. Looking down at my black dress shoes I suddenly felt ridiculously over dressed. How does one present themself in an interview in a porn shop anyway? My dress slacks, matching vest and shirt seemed an obvious choice at home. Now my mind whirled if I had enough time to dash home and change my clothes to a pair of jeans and t-shirt. But then, no that'd be impossible and look way too lax. Jeez I think my mind even considered walking in naked. Wouldn't that make a statement? I was so completely out of my league, my element and my comfort zone.
I hadn't had a relationship in a long time and the last one I did have was one bound, bent and determined on demoralizing every fibre of my self confidence, esteem and perspective. Throughout that time I learned that masturbation for women equaled erotic, sexy and liberating. Emphasis was placed on the revolting element of what it was for a man: pathetic, shameful, dirty and the sort of thing only desperate rapist and pedophiles did.
I started to hyperventilate and wanted to flee, flee so badly that I cared not if I ever worked again. My neurosis shifted to borderline psychosis as I thought I was on verge of a panic attack or cardiac arrest. Suddenly I'd wished that I did spank the chicken or choke the monkey (or whatever they called it now) at home, preparing at least I'd be relaxed rather than going through this personal hell. To this day I still have no idea how it is I pulled myself together. The last thing I recall is closing my eyes, taking ten deep, methodical breaths and wispering aloud, "It's only sex." Once I said it once, it sounded comforting, even almost natural. "It's only sex," I repeated and smiled a little. "It's only sex," I chanted louder one last time and grasped the door handle and pulled it open to step inside.
My hands shook, no scratch that trembled beyond reason. Upon my brow, sweat permiated profusely. My mouth grew dry as an arid desert even though my glands were working over time. At least three times I turned around and got back in my car as I was way too early. My nervous neurosis refused to let up. I was anxious about the job naturally. I was frenzied over being in a porno-type environment. I mean what kind of clientele were to shop there anyway? Clearly they'd have to be some sort of raging sex lunatics. What would these lunatics think of me? They'd formulate all these assumptions about the guy behind the counter being the ultimate pervert, sick twisted and fit to be institutionalized. They'd likely egg me on and antagonize me, accuse me of being a perpetual masterbater. I'd probably be ostracized and isolated worse than ever before in my life! Did I really have the cahonas to go through with this.
My first wave of nausea swept over me and if I'd had any breakfast that day it'd be all over the underground parking lot by now. Looking down at my black dress shoes I suddenly felt ridiculously over dressed. How does one present themself in an interview in a porn shop anyway? My dress slacks, matching vest and shirt seemed an obvious choice at home. Now my mind whirled if I had enough time to dash home and change my clothes to a pair of jeans and t-shirt. But then, no that'd be impossible and look way too lax. Jeez I think my mind even considered walking in naked. Wouldn't that make a statement? I was so completely out of my league, my element and my comfort zone.
I hadn't had a relationship in a long time and the last one I did have was one bound, bent and determined on demoralizing every fibre of my self confidence, esteem and perspective. Throughout that time I learned that masturbation for women equaled erotic, sexy and liberating. Emphasis was placed on the revolting element of what it was for a man: pathetic, shameful, dirty and the sort of thing only desperate rapist and pedophiles did.
I started to hyperventilate and wanted to flee, flee so badly that I cared not if I ever worked again. My neurosis shifted to borderline psychosis as I thought I was on verge of a panic attack or cardiac arrest. Suddenly I'd wished that I did spank the chicken or choke the monkey (or whatever they called it now) at home, preparing at least I'd be relaxed rather than going through this personal hell. To this day I still have no idea how it is I pulled myself together. The last thing I recall is closing my eyes, taking ten deep, methodical breaths and wispering aloud, "It's only sex." Once I said it once, it sounded comforting, even almost natural. "It's only sex," I repeated and smiled a little. "It's only sex," I chanted louder one last time and grasped the door handle and pulled it open to step inside.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Mammon of Miscreants II
I sat around investing most of my energy towards fighting the inevitable depression. As more time went by not working, the more usless I started to feel. I found I was avoiding social gatherings, feeling unworthy of anything interesting or new to contribute aside from the latest soap opera updates and latest game shows. Couch potato syndrome was settling in and even the unemployment hadn't arrived as of yet.
Just as true doom n gloom was settling in the phone rang one day. Such a foreign chirp I jumped, completely startled. I answered the phone with a tentative, "hello..?"
On the other end was a voice so uncharacteristically enthusiastic I was just about to hang up thinking it was a bloody telemarketer. He introduced himself as Mitch Savoy, (an alias to protect the oblivious) and asked for Dave Gammon. Once I replied he bid me a good evening even though it was morning and called me sir, yet he pronounced it 'searle'.
He mentioned how he received my resume and was very impressed and went onto bash the other candidates in articulate fashion. He talked about his retail stores, known as his 'babies'. He'd ask me random questions like who my favourite porno star was. I was befuddled and my mind had eluded me not fully realizing that the men and women are credited in the fuck films. My mind clammered before getting grip on a xxx centrefold I'd heard of that was fetching and most memorable named Victoria Paris. He snickered in what seemed like a pre-empted, forced laughter and promptly informed me she was old news.
Mitch went onto express his philosophies towards exhibitionism and sex in general and North American's general shame towards their own libidos. As he eloborated at great length, how free spirited our European forefathers were and how they regarded their sexuality, I became suddenly intruiged for the first time during our discussion. If this guy was trying to sell me on the business, it was definately working. Upon drifting too far from the topic, Mitch wanted to make sure I was 'comfortable with dildos and skin flicks' and asked me to come in for an interview to their Scarborough location. With renewed vigor and enthusiasm I avidly agreed and wrote the address down and said I'd be there early tomorrow. He thanked me for my time, calling me searle once again and said he admired my spirit.
I hung up the phone, staring at the shared accomodation in disbelief. Although I was trilled at my first potential prospect at working, the initial wave of panic rushed over me as my neurosis screamed at me to learn about porn and learn fast if I was going to avoid making a fool of myself.
I went to bed at 8:00 that night, making sure I wouldn't be late for my interview, compulsively checking my alarm clock dozens of times. I tossed and turned that night anxiously awaiting my first scheduled appointment in weeks. Little did I know it was the meeting that would forever change my very personna for better or worse as I know it today..
(con'd)
Just as true doom n gloom was settling in the phone rang one day. Such a foreign chirp I jumped, completely startled. I answered the phone with a tentative, "hello..?"
On the other end was a voice so uncharacteristically enthusiastic I was just about to hang up thinking it was a bloody telemarketer. He introduced himself as Mitch Savoy, (an alias to protect the oblivious) and asked for Dave Gammon. Once I replied he bid me a good evening even though it was morning and called me sir, yet he pronounced it 'searle'.
He mentioned how he received my resume and was very impressed and went onto bash the other candidates in articulate fashion. He talked about his retail stores, known as his 'babies'. He'd ask me random questions like who my favourite porno star was. I was befuddled and my mind had eluded me not fully realizing that the men and women are credited in the fuck films. My mind clammered before getting grip on a xxx centrefold I'd heard of that was fetching and most memorable named Victoria Paris. He snickered in what seemed like a pre-empted, forced laughter and promptly informed me she was old news.
Mitch went onto express his philosophies towards exhibitionism and sex in general and North American's general shame towards their own libidos. As he eloborated at great length, how free spirited our European forefathers were and how they regarded their sexuality, I became suddenly intruiged for the first time during our discussion. If this guy was trying to sell me on the business, it was definately working. Upon drifting too far from the topic, Mitch wanted to make sure I was 'comfortable with dildos and skin flicks' and asked me to come in for an interview to their Scarborough location. With renewed vigor and enthusiasm I avidly agreed and wrote the address down and said I'd be there early tomorrow. He thanked me for my time, calling me searle once again and said he admired my spirit.
I hung up the phone, staring at the shared accomodation in disbelief. Although I was trilled at my first potential prospect at working, the initial wave of panic rushed over me as my neurosis screamed at me to learn about porn and learn fast if I was going to avoid making a fool of myself.
I went to bed at 8:00 that night, making sure I wouldn't be late for my interview, compulsively checking my alarm clock dozens of times. I tossed and turned that night anxiously awaiting my first scheduled appointment in weeks. Little did I know it was the meeting that would forever change my very personna for better or worse as I know it today..
(con'd)
Monday, June 7, 2010
Mammon of Miscreants
The summer of 1996 was setting for a genuine coming of age for me. In Ontario we'd seen a change of political power. Our new premier was a 'no nonsense' conservative from North Bay, Mike Harris.
While many of my peers since childhood thought he was the next coming of Christ, I wasn't so sure. He'd vowed to remove surveillance cameras on highways, minimize social assistance abuse by making people work for their welfare and make immigration laws far less lenient.
Now don't get me wrong, I've engaged in a click or two above the speed limit and I'm all about everyone pulling their own weight especially when they're able and willing bodied people. The immigration laws did trouble me some as I really enjoyed learning about other cultures I'd never get a chance to otherwise. My biggest grievance was losing my cushy NDP government job as a result of this new political shift.
That's right I was a former civil servant that worked for the Ontario government as an employment consultant. Essentially my job was to develop new positions within aspiring companies for the long term unemployed and ensure trainees received quality training while companies received compensation for lost productivity in the form of government subsidy. The work came extremely natural to me and in typical civil servant fashion I worked all of 24 actual hours a week maximum, while considered a regular 40 hour week. I received a fat salary for all of twenty years of age and the future was so bright, I had to wear shades as the old song goes.
Little did I realize my optimism or naive nature would come back to haunt me. As the provincial power shifted, we were given our pink slips and asked to move on. Now for the first time since out of college, I was unemployed with no tangible prospects on the horizon. I wasn't too worried however. I figured being a pro at placing the long term unemployed--How hard could it being getting work for myself?
I lined up countless quality interviews. Whenver I did receive a response, it was in the form of rejection equipped with a full smorgasboard of reasons: too young, not enough experience, we've went with someone else or my all time favourite--we feel you're just too qualified for this position. As my bank account was quickly dwindling and I had already downsized from renting a modest one bedroom apartment to a slightly humbling 'sharing of accommodations' from a friend of a friend. I was borderline desperate and I knew something had to give.
One day when reading our local newspaper, which is incidentally marketed towards the low-brow, semi-educated members of society, I'd stumbled across an ad in the help wanted section. "Dynamic customer service reps wanted: Must be comfortable with adult related material." As I drummed my fingers on the desk restlessly while scanning over the saturation of massage parlor ads, escorts and xxx video ads, and occasionally glimpsing at the Sunshine girl, an epiphany suddenly hit me.
Perhaps it was time to think outside of the box. Maybe I had to change my strategy all together. All of these countless corporations that refused to take me seriously were stangling me in self pity, so why not try to a place that I would ordinarily be hesitant to take seriously? Why not do the opposite of the predictable? I mean I just had to apply, it didn't mean I had to accept it or anything. Maybe it was just the confidence booster I needed. I coudl always keep looking until something better, more suited came up. Feeling self assured and sligtly deviant and naughty, I retreated to the bowels of my friend of a friend's basement to warm up my electric type writer and compose the resume and cover letter that would forever alter my path of destiny as I know it.
Part II con'd.....
While many of my peers since childhood thought he was the next coming of Christ, I wasn't so sure. He'd vowed to remove surveillance cameras on highways, minimize social assistance abuse by making people work for their welfare and make immigration laws far less lenient.
Now don't get me wrong, I've engaged in a click or two above the speed limit and I'm all about everyone pulling their own weight especially when they're able and willing bodied people. The immigration laws did trouble me some as I really enjoyed learning about other cultures I'd never get a chance to otherwise. My biggest grievance was losing my cushy NDP government job as a result of this new political shift.
That's right I was a former civil servant that worked for the Ontario government as an employment consultant. Essentially my job was to develop new positions within aspiring companies for the long term unemployed and ensure trainees received quality training while companies received compensation for lost productivity in the form of government subsidy. The work came extremely natural to me and in typical civil servant fashion I worked all of 24 actual hours a week maximum, while considered a regular 40 hour week. I received a fat salary for all of twenty years of age and the future was so bright, I had to wear shades as the old song goes.
Little did I realize my optimism or naive nature would come back to haunt me. As the provincial power shifted, we were given our pink slips and asked to move on. Now for the first time since out of college, I was unemployed with no tangible prospects on the horizon. I wasn't too worried however. I figured being a pro at placing the long term unemployed--How hard could it being getting work for myself?
I lined up countless quality interviews. Whenver I did receive a response, it was in the form of rejection equipped with a full smorgasboard of reasons: too young, not enough experience, we've went with someone else or my all time favourite--we feel you're just too qualified for this position. As my bank account was quickly dwindling and I had already downsized from renting a modest one bedroom apartment to a slightly humbling 'sharing of accommodations' from a friend of a friend. I was borderline desperate and I knew something had to give.
One day when reading our local newspaper, which is incidentally marketed towards the low-brow, semi-educated members of society, I'd stumbled across an ad in the help wanted section. "Dynamic customer service reps wanted: Must be comfortable with adult related material." As I drummed my fingers on the desk restlessly while scanning over the saturation of massage parlor ads, escorts and xxx video ads, and occasionally glimpsing at the Sunshine girl, an epiphany suddenly hit me.
Perhaps it was time to think outside of the box. Maybe I had to change my strategy all together. All of these countless corporations that refused to take me seriously were stangling me in self pity, so why not try to a place that I would ordinarily be hesitant to take seriously? Why not do the opposite of the predictable? I mean I just had to apply, it didn't mean I had to accept it or anything. Maybe it was just the confidence booster I needed. I coudl always keep looking until something better, more suited came up. Feeling self assured and sligtly deviant and naughty, I retreated to the bowels of my friend of a friend's basement to warm up my electric type writer and compose the resume and cover letter that would forever alter my path of destiny as I know it.
Part II con'd.....
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