Tonight at work, four trendy girls no older than fifteen came into the store, with their sparkled t-shirts and bare stomachs, and marched over to the Sex section of self help. They pulled a book off the shelf, gathered around it, and started talking in very hushed tones, pointing and casting quick glances at each other. After about two minutes they put the book down, and picked up another. As they repeatedly browsed through the books, they became more and more animated, and I could pick up bits of their conversation as I made my patrol around the store:
"ooh it's a pop-up book!"
"I like the way he bobs up and down"
"that's not right . . . is it?"
Soon, their laughter went from subdued to nearly-hysterical, and I could even hear it faintly on the other side of the store. On my very next pass, I walked up behind them, slowly, and threw on my best Customer Service Voice: "Is there anything I can help you ladies with, this evening?"
They turned around quickly, embarassed, not knowing where to look; the girl that was actually holding the book quickly jammed it onto the shelf, hoping that her movements wouldn't be noticed. They didn't even look right at me, sputtered a few, "No, no, don't need any help," and quickly left the section. They marched right down the escalators and straight out the front doors.
And my co-workers wonder why the Sex section is notoriously out of alphabetical order.