Jennie Smash

Me: (To the cashier at my local bodega.) “Do you have Kotex? Or any kind of pad?”

Bodega Boy: (Standing beside the counter, almost permanently. He’s maybe 16, hasn’t got shit to do, and is talking to the cashier aimlessly.) “Shit! You can’t ask for that here! You got to go to Key Foods!”

Me: “Why?”

Bodega Boy: “Cuz … uh, shit man! That’s gross!”

Cashier: “In the far aisle. Juan will get it for you.”

(After some struggle with the tall-shelf-grabby-thing, I slap my Kotex down on the counter. Bodega Boy looks pained.)

Bodega Boy: “You don’t gotta slap it down like that.”

Me: “Oh, yes I do.”

Bodega Boy: “Shit, man, why?”

Me: “Because my uterus is shedding huge tangled chunks of bloody tissue, and I need napkins to absorb the flow.”

Bodega Boy: “Shit!”

Me: (Leaning in confidentially. Almost flirtatiously.) “Every one of these napkins is just waiting to catch a giant bloody clot of uterine lining.”

Bodega Boy: (Crickets. Shock shock, horror horror. It’s clear he’ll stay a virgin until he’s 36.)

Cashier: (Smiling. Enjoying himself immensely.) “Good night!”