a lesbian, a trans-man, a straight girl, and a basket of lube walk into an office…


Before I became a victim of the recession (and the whims of my supervisor) I used to have a job that gave me a lot of random stories.  It was literally the gayest (as in homosexual) organization in San Francisco, and the thing that bums me out the most about not working there, is the realization that I’ll probably never be able to find a place that will let me wear leggings and/or brightly colored tights and/or leopard print every day of the week.  Downgrade.  Also, where will I ever be able to come up with workplace stories like the following…

When I first began working at my now former work, we were planning a conference.  We had a general bag of SWAG items, and then some gift baskets up for a raffle to give to the attendees. One day a colorful gift basket arrived in the mail, courtesy of one of our sponsors, a lube company.  The basket was wrapped up in cellophane like an Easter basket — an Easter basket fuuuuull of lube that is. Like, FULL. Any kind of lube you can imagine. There was stuff for girls, and stuff for boys. Gels, and creams, oils and waxes (okay, I lied about the wax, I think that would defeat the purpose…). The basket had already been partially opened, because one of my co-workers had somehow ripped the cellophane, so I didn’t even see everything. But there were like 5 shaving cream can sized bottles of gel lube (warming, warming light, sensitive, and original) on top. This was followed by like 5 packs of oil, and like 3 jars of cream — “thick, warming sensation lubricant” read one. There was a t-shirt, and a hat, some more lube, and then like 6 more big bottles that I couldn’t pry out, but the tops looked strangely phallic.
“Wow, that’s a lot of lube!” I remarked, sniffing one of the warming gels.
“Depends on what you’re using it for” my lesbian motorcycle-driving co-worker, Elaine,* responded. I laughed, but she wasn’t kidding.
“Yeah, like, for example, fisting really takes a lot.” My trans-male co-worker, Willem*, added.
“Careful! Don’t scare her, she’s innocent!” Cautioned Elaine.
“Listen, if she’s going to work here, she’s got to learn sometime…”
“No, no, she’s innocent. Don’t scare her.”
“HEY!” I was indignant at being called innocent, but I stopped myself from saying so — better to be labeled innocent than the Office Ho, so I added, “ehhh, yeah, no thanks, to fisting guys…”
“I’m a lube snob anyway.” Willem continued.
“Oh?” for lack of anything better to say.
“Yeah, I prefer [insert some ridiculously dirty/gay pun type name here].” I laughed, because the name was so ridiculous, but I realized he was serious, so I stopped myself mid-chortle, and nodded knowingly.
“Ahh,” I responded as if I knew. But I didn’t know.

Apparently, I have a lot to learn about lube, I thought to myself as I made my way back to my office.

*Names have been changed, because I like these names better

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