My tenre began to strengthen and solidify at the Adult Emporium. I learned precisely why I was submerged in the Mammon of Miscreants; More on this motley crew as the tale continues to unfold. Much to my amazement, I was hired on the spot.
At the very least I'd thought I'd have at least one night to fester and ferment in my own juices of neurosis. Should I be pleased to be working in such an environment? Would my family disown me? When could I expect to be rendered a social outcast?
After all this was 1996 and sexuality in Canada. If we weren't ashamed of it, evidently we should be. Working in a porno shoppe of all things, I'm sure I'd be labelled as a sick pervert. Every woman that passed me on the street would be able to see the shame in my eyes and clamour to the opposite side of the street, citing 'sicko, creep and pervert' along the way. All the while I'd be assumed to be a chronic masturbator if nothing else.
I stared in disbelief, attempting to absorb Mitch Savoy's words of wisdom. "Everyone that steps through the threshold of Adult Emporium--wants---something. They may not know what or even realize it. It is our job--our duty-- to help them discover what.' Mitch had no use for jack-offs ( a doragatory term I'd found was outrageously humourous) that sat behind the counter, doing crosswords or reading a book all the while refusing to acknowledge the presence of good paying customers.
(con'd)
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