What A Douche!

(I am in high school, working as a cashier at a well-known superstore. One afternoon, we are a little slow and the front end manager decides to take me off my register and put me in the pharmacy section to face the shelves. I’ve made it around to the feminine hygiene section when a male customer who appears to be in his early thirties approaches me.)

Customer: “Do you know where this is?”

(He holds up a piece of paper up for me to read. Someone has sent him in for a douche product.)

Me: “Yes, sir. That’s on the shelf right behind you.”

(He turns to look at them and seems confused. He stares at the different types for a minute and then turns back toward me.)

Customer: “Which one do I get her?”

Me: “I really couldn’t tell you.”

(This is before everyone carries cell phones, so I can’t suggest he call her and find out.)

Customer: “You’re a girl. You should know about these things!”

Me: “I’ve never used it before, so I wouldn’t be able to tell you.”

Customer: “Just pick one for me.”

Me: “Does she want a scented one?”

Customer: “I don’t know. Just pick one.”

Me: “Okay. Here you go.”

(I reach down to grab the box labeled “original,” since he couldn’t answer the question about scented or unscented. I turn to hand it to him and he throws his hands up in the surrender position as if I’ve pointed a gun at him.)

Me: “This is what you’re looking for. You can take it to the register.”

(He’s still standing there with his hands up and begins shaking his head, refusing to grab the box of douche.)

Me: “Sir, I am not going to take this up to the register for you.”

(He continued to stare at the box for a few more seconds as if this box was going to physically harm him if he touched it. Finally, he gingerly took it by the corner between his thumb and forefinger, nearly dropping it. He carried it that way down the aisle and towards the front. I went back to facing the shelves, wondering at the immaturity of some men.)