Isn't It Hysterical?!

I only gave a week’s notice at my transcriptionist job.  The various shift supervisors were unanimously shocked to hear that I was leaving, but my manager said he understood that I could be making more money elsewhere and had been expecting this for a while.  And as soon as he’d said that, I realized that I both liked and respected him quite a bit, and I immediately felt annoyed with myself for not having realized it much earlier on.  I consoled myself by contemplating the 80% pay increase that came with my new job.

The following Tuesday was my first day and, as I walked into the office, I was immediately assaulted by the smell of latex and rubber.  It was overwhelming, actually, and I suspect the only reason I hadn’t noticed it when I came in to interview a week earlier was because I was preoccupied with getting the job.  Now, however, without the preoccupation, the smell was powerful enough to result in a headache after a few hours.

The office manager handed me a giant stack of paperwork and said, “This is the new hire packet, fill it out and give it back to me when you’re done.  Donna won’t be in for a few hours, so feel free to take your time.”

“Oh.  Alright.  What time does she normally come in?”

“Usually between ten and eleven,” she said, and nodded to my stack of paper, “let me know if you have any questions.”

In all the years I’ve been working I’ve never seen a new hire packet so improbably large.  Most of it was the standard non disclosure agreement and signing off on the company rules stuff but there was one item in there that I’d never seen before.  Basically, it was an agreement that, because of the nature of the business of working with giant rubber cocks, employees couldn’t be sexually harassed.  That struck me as both false and slightly unethical, but I signed off on it anyway, because I wanted the job.  I finished signing and initialing everything and spent the next few hours contemplating the mysteries of the universe and/or surfing the web.

Finally Donna came sprinting through the door and asked me to join her in her office.  She sat down and asked me to close the door and proceeded to give me her overall game plan for the web site, the short of it being that she wanted it to be a wholesale site for Mom & Pop businesses doing party plans.

“What’s a party plan?” I asked.  She looked at me like I’d just asked what oxygen was.

“Home party plans are where a woman organizes parties at someone’s home.  There are usually half a dozen to a dozen other women invited and they all sit around drinking and talking shit about their husbands while the woman who organized the party gives a presentation showcasing various products she has for sale.”

“Okay.  So a Tupperware party with rubber cocks then.”

“Exactly!” she said, with increasing enthusiasm, “But not just dildos.  She’d also be selling a ton of other things like lubes, vibrators, massage oils, candles…that sort of thing.  Oh and lingerie, too.”

“And no Tupperware.”

“Ha ha!” and my soul shoved an ice pick in each ear.  I’d forgotten about the laugh.

“So, have you had a chance to look around yet?”

“No, I haven’t done much beyond filling out the new hire packet.”

“Well, let me give you the guided tour then,” and with that she was up and out of the gate, power walking through the warehouse, office, and factory.  When we came back into the office, she took me into a room and, with a flourish of her hand, said, “This is more or less our complete catalog of toys.”  There must have been over two hundred dildos hanging on the entire south wall of the room, floor to ceiling, making that easily the most rubber penises I’ve ever seen in one place.  My eye was instantly drawn to a butt plug the size of my head.

“Please tell me people only use that for a door stop,” I pleaded.

“Ha ha!”  There it was again.  “Man, I don’t even want to know what people do with these things.  Isn’t it hysterical though?!  I mean, honestly, I just think most of this shit is funny.  Like this one,” and she pulled an enormous toy off the wall called The Black Beauty.

“Is that…is that a horse cock?”

“Tell me that doesn’t crack you up.”

“No, that’s some funny shit right there.”

“Right?  It’s part of our animal kingdom line.”

“We have an entire line of animal dick?”

“Yep!  We also have a Great White Whale and a Marmaduke!” and she showed me the whale and dog cocks.  “Aren’t they hysterical?  Here check this out,” and she grabbed a pogo stick from one of the corners in the room.  The pogo stick looked too shitty to have even been made in Malaysia and it had an attachment on it that held a giant dildo.  “Isn’t that hysterical?” she laughed.

“Yeah, that’s funny as hell,” I replied, doing my best to feign amusement.  It’s not that the idea of a pogo-cock isn’t funny.  It’s just that it’s funny in the same way that a guy slipping on a banana peel or getting a pie in the face is funny and I stopped laughing at banana-peel and pie-in-the-face jokes about 35 years ago.

“I mean, I just think that so much of what we do in this industry is so funny,” and she laughed her banshee laugh again.

“Absolutely.”  At this point, I wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince me or herself.  And I honestly didn’t care, I just wanted to get started working.

“So, here’s what I’m thinking:  Valentine’s Day is a month away.  I want this site to have product for sale by Valentine’s at the latest.  Even if it’s just a handful of items.  If you can manage that, this will work out.  If not, you’re the wrong guy for the job.  Sound fair?”

“I’ll have it up and running before Valentine’s.”

“Great.” she said excitedly, “So what do you need to get started?”


Tim Hatch lives in a secret volcano headquarters somewhere in the South Pacific, where he controls the world economy and writes confessional poetry about his disappointing childhood.

His poetry has been published in MungBeing, East Jasmine Review, The Pacific Review, The Vehicle, Touch: The Journal Of Healing, Apeiron Review, and he is the recipient of the 2014 Felix Valdez Award.

He finds writing about himself in the third person to be an overtly seductive invitation to tell lies.

He once captured a French Eagle at Talavera.

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