TouchedByMadness

My Naughty New Toy

On my way home from work yesterday I decided to stop by Staples for a new mouse pad and some other equally unexciting office supplies. No big deal, right?

That’s what I thought until my seventh pass through the store when a salesperson, perhaps sick of listening to click-clack of my heels, finally asked, “Miss, can I help you with something?”

“Actually, yeah,” I answered. “Do you guys sell laser pointers?”

“Oh yes,” he said, suddenly lowering his voice to a near whisper, “but we keep them locked up under the counter. You’ll have to go to the Service Desk for that.”

I decided to ignore his strange look and the unnecessary emphasis on Service Desk. “Thanks,” I said and headed in the direction of the counter.

“Wait!” he said. “You are over eighteen, aren’t you?”

“Yes, quite a bit so,” I replied with an uneasy laugh. What did it matter? I wanted a laser pointer, not porn.

When I got to the Service Desk, a middle-aged woman greeted me. “What kind were you looking for?” she asked.

The kind that emits a laser? Makes a small red dot on a distant surface? So you can point at things? Sound familiar?

She answered my look of confusion with “Smooth? Textured? Special –”

“Uh . . . the regular kind?”

She began to pull out several nondescript brown cardboard boxes. “Hmmm, the regular kind,” she said as she dumped out laser pointers all over the counter. She clearly didn’t find what she wanted and emptied another box. “Well, we used to have an $18 model, but I think we’re all out,” she explained as she littered the counter with a third pile. She picked one out. “I think this is the next one up. It has a comfort grip and the batteries are included.” People began to gather behind me. “Can we get a price check on this green ribbed one?” she yelled to the salesperson all of four feet away. Folks craned their necks to see what special instrument I was so interested in. Inexplicably, I could feel my face redden. “Price check on –”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s great,” I replied, grabbing the pointer and dodging through the crowd.

I ducked behind Register #2, safe from the judgmental stares of the scandalized Staples shoppers.

“How are you today?” the cashier asked.

“Fine, thanks,” I said, dumping my purchases on the counter.

She held up the laser pointer, “What do you plan to use this for?” she asked with a sly smile.

Surprised and flustered, I sputtered out, “For work . . . to . . .” and completely forgetting how to speak, pantomimed using a laser pointer using jerky, manic movements.

She gave me that look that says, “I know you’re full of shit, but whatever.”

“Ha ha,” I forced a laugh. “Is there some other use I don’t know about?” What did this crazy woman think I wanted it for? Maybe I shouldn’t have gotten the model with the “comfort grip” handle after all.

“Well . . .” she said, leaning towards me as if she had a most amazing piece of sensational gossip. “You wouldn’t believe how many people buy these for their cats.”

“Ha! Their cats? Really?”

(Busted.)