FAUX PAS OF THE PHALLIC PHARMACY KIND

My Ordinary Joe in Ireland today sent me an e-mail with humorous stories of public humiliation, and they reminded me of a time years ago when I had embarrassed myself horribly.

I was only 17 and worked in a drug store while attending community college in Astoria, Oregon. The owner was insistent that I stay with customers as they shopped, directing them to the proper aisle and assisting them in selecting the purchase just right for them. (I knew that his ulterior motive was to have me monitor them to prevent shoplifting, but we dressed it up as "helping the customer"). He always reinforced to me that I should inquire about what product volume they were interested in, and that I should always try to sell them the largest because it was a "better value.." (read, "profit margin").

Not far from Astoria was the Tongue Point Job Corps Training Center, where adolescents at risk were given another chance through vocational training. It had been a residence for boys years prior, but by the time I moved back to Astoria after high school, it had been transitioned to all girls' dormitories. Troop members from Fort Lewis, Washington would frequently make the trip down to the Oregon coast to try to hook up with the girls, and the soldiers could be frequently found in the pharmacy on a Friday afternoon.

So it was that I had occasion to walk up to one very tall, handsome, young African-American man and inquire politely if I could help him. He stuttered and stammered a bit, glancing furtively at the pharmacists behind the counter, both of whom were busily engaged in filling prescriptions. Recognizing that I was his only option, he finally allowed that he was in the market for condoms. (These were the days when all modes of contraception were kept "behind the counter.”) This was my first encounter with such a request and, initially flustered, I quickly collected myself and asked him what brand he wanted. He told me, and when I rounded the counter to where they were kept, I realized that there were several options available, some boxes holding far more than others. Intending to inquire about the number of condoms he wished to purchase, I innocently blurted out, "What size?"

The man's mouth dropped open and the whites surrounding his irises could be seen all the way around as his eyes widened. He was unable to reply. The look on his face immediately informed me of the magnitude of my mistake, as did the roar of uncontrollable laughter that had erupted from behind the pharmacy counter. As my cheeks burned hot with embarrassment, I quickly corrected myself, saying "I mean, 'How many?'" The man replied with his hand covering his eyes, and I hurriedly retrieved the correct box from the peg. We went through the agonizingly awkward transaction at the register with our eyes averted. After I slammed the drawer of the till shut, we made equal haste, he for the exit and I for the employee lounge, both of us clearly grateful to have the experience in our respective rear-view mirrors.

The pharmacists never let me forget it... “What size?” they would ask out of nowhere with a sly smile, just to satisfy their own ability to embarrass me repeatedly. Not that I wasn't completely mortified enough at the time to have never forgotten it on my own. If anyone had told me then that this was a story that I would laugh about someday, I could not have believed them. I could not know then that this was just life handing the young man and I a blessing by way of “trial by humility.” I wonder if he has ever related that story with as much laughter as I have. As Coyote teaches me daily, learning to laugh at one’s self is one of life’s most precious gifts.