Not wanting to walk up to the checkout counter with just a box of condoms, I dart down the food aisle and grab some of my comfort snacks. Needing them tonight more than ever.
My whole body is covered in panic sweat by the time I move into line with my armful of items, and I’m wondering the penalty for shoplifting and if it’s worth the chance. But thankfully there’s only one person ahead of me, and I haven’t recognized anybody.
I tap my foot on the ground as I wait, wishing I could speed up time.
After the longest minute of my life, the person checking out leaves and it’s my turn.
I’d stacked my other purchases on top of the condom box, using it like a little tray, so I just set the pile on the counter as is.
Praying to the gods of mercy that this cashier will move quickly, I watch as she scans the items.
Red Gatorade.
Gushers.
A box of Dots.
“Oh, Maddison!”
My spine straightens.
Oh no.
With horror, I look up to find Mrs. Nicolini only a few steps away and getting closer.
I hold up a shaking hand, hoping a simple wave will hold her off. But of course that’s not the case. She’s the town’s biggest gossip.
She closes the distance between us, pulling me into a forced hug that smells of vanilla perfume and mothballs.
“It’s been too long, dear.” She releases me from the hug but keeps a grip on my arms. “What’ve you been-”
Her words cut off as her eyes move to the checkout counter beside us.
The hands on my arms snatch away.
Flames fill my body.
Praying to anyone that’ll listen, I silently beg the condoms to be out of sight before I glance over. And die.
I instantly die.
Because the box is still there, the label up and facing towards us.
Lubricated condoms. Tropical Flavor. Value Pack.
The cashier snickers as she picks up the box. “Really got a theme going here?”
I let out a choked sound, feeling Mrs. Nicolini’s gaze move to my bag filled with candy and a drink. And the cashier is right. I do have a tropical theme going here.
“Well,” Mrs. Nicolini huffs. “Maybe you’d like to come to church next weekend, instead of… whatever it is that’s been keeping you busy.”
The cashier snickers again and irritation swirls with my humiliation. The combination of gross emotions sends my mind into the beginnings of a mental spiral. I want to puke. And it sucks, but it makes it a little easier to ignore Mrs. Nicolini.
Normally I wouldn’t have the courage to ignore someone, but she’s making me mad. I’m used to her church related crap. She’s been trying to foister her religion on me for the last 20 years. But trying to shame me for buying condoms is a new level of shitty for her.
I want to tell her to butt out of my business. That there’s nothing wrong with buying these and practicing safe sex. That just because my condoms are flavored, doesn’t mean my soul is damned to some sort of eternal torment.
Except, come to think of it, it’s already happening. This right here is my literal hell.