The adult store I worked in almost a decade ago had double glass doors that opened into the mall. When we were open, we had to lock the doors “open” or else they’d swing backward and break the hinges, so it was pretty obvious when we were open, even though we didn’t have an Open/Closed sign, and we followed mall hours, just like almost every other store down our corridor. There was also a privacy wall that blocked the view of most of the store from the mall… and meant I had no view of the doors from most places in the shop.

The company was… questionable about some of their policies. We technically didn’t start getting paid until the store opened. But we still had to open the till and so on before 10 AM.

I usually arrived about thirty minutes before opening, because that gave me time to open the till, sort out any potential last-minute issues, and then sit and have my breakfast before we opened. 

I never turned on all the lights, just the one switch that I needed to see in the back room. The privacy wall hid the fact that anyone was in the store or that any lights were on. I had an alarm set on my phone for two minutes before opening, because that was the exact amount of time I needed to switch on the rest of the lights and open the doors on time. I would also be the only one on shift from 10 AM to 2:15 PM. 

One weekday morning, I’d shown up for work at my usual time, put the cash in the till, and settled in the back with my muffin. Then I heard someone just yanking on the doors. And I mean doors – plural. They started on one door, yanking over and over and over, hard enough that I worried that the glass might shatter, and then when that door didn’t open, they switched to the other door. 

I’ve had people try the doors before. The other two adult stores in the mall kept their doors closed but unlocked. Usually, I’d hear one light tug on each door, just enough for the person to realize the doors were both locked, and then they’d move on.

I’ve got anxiety issues already, so all I could think was that someone was trying to break in. There was no rear exit to the store, just those front doors. The mall has security, but it’s…not the most responsive, let’s just say. But I grabbed the phone and crept over to peek around the privacy wall.

There was no one lingering around the doors. I couldn’t see very far from that angle, so I moved closer to the doors. The closest person I could see was a guy in a suit, flopped in a chair in the corridor, probably fifty feet away. So, I went back to my breakfast.

A few minutes later, the yanking began again. Same routine, yanking back and forth almost a dozen times on one door before repeating on the other.

When I got up afterward to check again, there was no one there again. The man in the suit was still flopped in the chair.

Should I have called mall security? Probably. But each incident was so short, and I had no description of who it might be, so I seriously doubted mall security would do much of anything. They certainly wouldn’t get there until after we opened.

It happened one more time before 10 AM, but I didn’t get up to look that time. So, I was kind of rattled when I finally went to open the doors. I locked them open, went back inside, and started my day. I was completely visible to whoever was sitting in those chairs when I was opening the doors.

It was maybe ten minutes after opening when the man in the suit strolled in. He wound up buying a couple of items (I don’t remember what exactly, but they were cheaper products.) As I was ringing him in, he chuckled.

Customer: “You know, I thought you opened at 9 AM. I tried your doors a couple of times, but they were locked. I needed these things.”

Me: “Yeah. We open at 10 AM… like the rest of the mall.”

He then left with his purchase.

I still don’t know why he a.) felt the need to “try” the doors so violently so many times, b.) why he had such a desperate need for cheap adult toys at 9 AM on a weekday (truthfully, don’t want to know), or c.) why he waited until ten minutes after seeing me open the doors to come in when he “needed” the cheap toys at 9 AM on a weekday.

When I first started working in a particular adult store forever ago, the shop was pre-renovations and looked fairly… dated. It had two frosted glass doors at the entrance, and we would latch one of the doors open during open hours. 

It meant people could peer into the store from the mall, so we had to be mindful of what exactly people could see from the doorway. But it was still very clearly an adult shop: lingerie and novelty items featuring genitalia toward the front, and walls full of adult toys, some in very graphic packaging, toward the back.

The store also had two large display windows flanking the doors, and while we couldn’t put graphic stuff in the windows, it was again, pretty obviously an adult store: lingerie on the mannequin, fuzzy handcuffs hung nearby, bottles of massage oil arranged artfully, that sort of thing. 

I was the only one on shift one day when a woman strode in. She came right up to where I was, a little further than halfway into the store. 

She asked me for a specific item. She did have an accent, and her English was quite good, but I still did a double-take and had to ask her to repeat herself because my brain went fuzzy from shock.

Customer: “Do you sell printer ink?”

Yup, that’s what I’d thought I’d heard. I glanced around the store.

Me: “Uh. This is an adult store, so… no…?”

She finally looked around her and squeaked in shock. She turned back to the door, where I finally noticed a man standing with a stroller, laughing his butt off. The woman raced out of the store, yelling at the man in another language. 

I waited until they were out of sight before I started laughing.

When I worked in an adult store, we were located in a large mall. So that meant we had to deal with teenagers on a regular basis.

We were strictly 18+, and we would ask for ID to confirm someone’s age if they seemed a little young. We had a sign on the door saying exactly that. I don’t remember the exact wording, but it was along the lines of “18+ Only, ID must be presented if asked.”

One afternoon, a group of teenagers, probably fifteen years old, tried to enter the store.

Me: “Nope, sorry, you’ve gotta be eighteen to be in here.”

Lead Teenager: “How do you know we’re not eighteen?!”

Me: “Show me some ID, then.”

Lead Teenager: “We don’t have to show you ID!”

Me: “Yes, you do. It says so on the sign.”

Lead Teenager: “There’s no sign!”

Me: “Sure is!”

I herded the boy back toward the doors. Most of his friends had already drifted back out into the mall. I pointed to the sign. The boy got right up within inches of the sign and squinted over EVERY WORD. I watched his head turn side to side as he read the lines, and he mouthed the words.

Unable to dispute the very clear sign, he huffed and stomped away. 

I’m all for finding loopholes in stupid rules. But “I didn’t read the sign” isn’t a loophole.

I work in an adult store. Like most stores of our type, we have a double-door entry so that you can’t see anything from the street, but we also split the store in two, with our tamer stuff at the front, and the more explicit stuff in the back room.

I’m tidying a display near the counter when the door bursts open. A little girl rushes in, beaming.

I freeze, about to intervene, when her mom comes sprinting in after her, face red.

Mom: “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! She saw the word ‘toys’ on the sign outside and thought… well, Barbies.”

The little girl looks around, confused.

Girl: “These aren’t Barbies.”

Mom: *Already ushering her out the door.* “Nope, nope, nope, not Barbies, sweetie! Just… grown-up Legos. Let’s go!”

As the door swings shut, my coworker is laughing:

Coworker: “Imagine explaining why Barbie doesn’t need Ken anymore.”

CONTENT WARNING: Adult Content

There is a popular sex toy shop in Central Oahu, and several years ago, my friend and I picked up food at the very popular restaurant next door to it. We left with our food and were going to exit the parking lot when a woman in a 1972 Civic jumped in her car and reversed all in one movement without looking, hitting my rear passenger door. There was no damage to the Civic, but my 1997 Nissan Maxima wasn’t built as well, and the door was dented in.

My friend and I got out of the car and observed the damage with the woman. Impressively, there was no paint damage, but the car would still have to go in to repair the dent.

Me: “Well, obviously, I’m going to need your insurance.”

Woman: “Insurance?! Ha! I’m not giving you my insurance for this.”

Friend: “The damage is pretty severe, ma’am.”

Me: “I’ll have to call the police.”

Woman: “Severe?! Ha! Watch this.”

She placed her car keys in my hand, folded my fingers over them, and patted my hand reassuringly before turning and walking confidently into the sex shop. She returned a moment later with a long box and produced a toy modeled after a horse’s anatomy.

Woman: “You get the ones meant for shower tile.”

She held the item up for us and the small group of people who had gathered to see.

Woman: “Industrial suction cup and a long, manipulatable, ergonomic handle.”

Me: “Uhh…”

She slammed it into the dent, suction cup first, and then pulled as hard as she could. With a loud BANG that echoed around the space, the dent pulled out easily, leaving the door as it had been. She pulled out a microfiber cloth and wiped the area down before standing proudly next to it with a smile, much to the amusement of the two of us and the crowd. She then accepted her keys back from me and pointed at me with the toy.

Woman: “You must keep one of these in your toolbox.”

I laughed.

Me: “No. No, thank you.”

Woman: “Am I free to go?”

I walked around to the side of the car and looked closely at the door. Aside from a small scratch and a tiny light ripple — which honestly may have been there before — I couldn’t see anything. At that point, we had owned the car since 1997, when I was in elementary school. I was now in college, and the vehicle was sixteen years and old over 200,000 miles north of that point. After verifying that the window still worked, I stood up.

Me: “Yeah, I’d call this one solved.”

The woman nodded, popped her hatch, and threw the toy into the back of her car with her shopping.

Woman: “Now move. I have to be at a meeting.”

We reversed, and both cars left without further incident.

We recounted the story to our friends in the Student Lounge when we arrived back at school and distributed the food, and to this day, we occasionally tell the story again.