Adult Services

Last Week:

After explaining to one of my coworkers that I mistook the earthquake for my room being haunted when I was wakened by a loud boom and my bed shaking, then finding out that Marina thought it was aliens, she asked a poignant question about why it is that all these alleged abductees claim they were anally probed during their abduction. We discussed this, between giggles, wondering if the aliens had some kind of knowledge about the colon that we do not, or was it some kind of anthropology study of the waste of a people revealing their culture. The more we discussed the anal probing of aliens, the sillier we became, and then Arms approached the desk and we asked if he’d felt the earthquake. He did not.

Me: Marina thought it was aliens.

Coworker: What do you think about alien abductions?

Without her elaborating that we’d basically deduced that alien abductions = anal probing, Arms began a exclaiming in favor of alien abduction.

Arms: Oh, I’d LOVE to be abducted!

Giggles.

Arms: I think I’d enjoy that immensely!

Laughter.

Arms: I’ve ALWAYS wanted to try that!

Hysterics.

Arms: Since I was little, I’ve wanted to be an ASSSSSSS-tronaut.

Tears and sobbing.

It was as if he knew what we were talking about and was playing along. But he didn’t have a clue.

So my coworker decided to let him in on the source of our laughter and she wrote on a piece of small paper, “anal probes.” Once he realized what we were laughing about he laughed as well.

Arms: I’m going in the back to shred this piece of paper. I don’t want to just drop it into the garbage and someone else will come along and see that and find it disturbing.

Me: You can’t just fold it up in your pocket and risk finding it later when you do laundry. What if you don’t remember what it’s about and there’s just this paper that says “anal probes” in your pocket?

Arms: Exactly. What if it fell out of my pocket and someone saw it fall out and tried to tell me, but they read it and then had to wonder why I was walking around with a slip of paper in my pocket that said “anal probes.”

Me: You have to destroy all evidence of that paper.

Arms: That’s exactly what I’m about to do.

Monday Night:

Arms: Look, I got a Valentine!

Me: Oooh, who from?

It was from one of the girls who works in the youth department.

Arms: But look. It’s not just any Valentine. It’s a Jonas Brothers Valentine.

Me: Wow, that…that…is…sad.

Arms: It says, “Happy V-Day.”

Me: Yeah, but they’re the Jonas Brothers and V probably means something entirely different to them.

Arms: Whoa! You know, every conversation I have with Adult Services lately goes straight downhill. You guys put the “Adult” in Adult Services.

Me: Don’t be giving them credit for my dirty mind! That’s all me, baby!

Arms: I’m getting out of here and going back down to the youth department where they’re good.

Me: You can’t handle the heat, get out of the kitchen.

Yesterday:

We were discussing a wild time Arms had at the bars the night before and a random girl he was making out with.

Me: You sure she was a girl?

Arms: Oh yeah, I’m sure.

Me: Are you REALLY sure? Because some of those cross-dressers are prettier women than real women.

Arms: If that happened and I found out she wasn’t female, there would be some violence. ‘Captain Winkie!’

Me: Huh? Tell me you don’t have a nickname for it!

Arms: No, that’s from Ace Ventura! Remember?

Me: No, it’s been a really long time since I saw that.

Arms: Well, I could’ve said ‘cock’, but that’s such a harsh word. I’d have to say ‘cahhhk’ so it wouldn’t sound so bad. I don’t like that word.

Me: Oh, I like it. I like it a lot!

Arms (blushing and laughing): Every time I come up here, this department gets more and more ADULT.

Me: Scary, isn’t it?

Arms: No, I like it.

But he walked quickly away. Back to the youth department for some cleansing.

Tonight:

Arms: What’s that chemical called that the body releases?

Me: Serotonin?

Arms: No, the stuff that makes you feel good.

Me: Endorphins?

Arms: Yes!

Coworker: Margaritas!

Me: Oh, that would be awesome if our bodies just produced that! Every few seconds I’d do this…

I pretended to lick the entire length of my left arm.

Me: Mmmmmmmmmm…

And then I pretended to lick the entire length of my right arm.

We were cracking up and I continued going, pretending to lick myself with an exaggerated lusty, hunger.

Coworker: It would be like pheromones!

She began sniffing the air, searching for the smell of someone releasing margarita pheromones.

I leaned over to her with my tongue lolling out of my mouth and sniffed her shoulder with dramatic facial embellishments.

Me: Mmmmmmmmmmargarita!

Arms was laughing and trying not to watch this directly.

I smiled huge, my eyes buggy, and I leaned over and started pretending to lick my coworker’s arm, making loud slurping sounds. We were in hysterics again.

Me: It’s like those toads people lick to get high. We’d be licking one another all night around here.

Arms (bright red and laughing): OHMYGOD, you guys are sick!

Again, he slithered off to Youth for comfort and sweetness.

I think allowing 14-year-olds in our area is probably irresponsible. We clearly need to be NC-17.