It was five days after Christmas at Bongs & Dongs Ace Specialty Shop Premium of Choice. Alvin Bong and Tina Dong owned the store. They had met on Facebook and joked on each other’s walls that they should open up a shop together peddling wares for the narcotically and sexually adventurous. Seeing this bit of synchronicity as a sign from the universe, they quit their office jobs, fell madly in love, and executed a focused business plan that had proven extremely lucrative this holiday season.
Wilbur Wong was the shop’s only employee. He was Alvin’s cousin through a union that some in the extended family considered incest, while others were adamant it was not, because she was adopted and so what if society had labelled them brother and sister, they loved each other and that was what mattered most before the eyes of God.
Wilbur was a nineteen-year-old innocent who needed the work to pay for his university education. Even though he had never used any of the store’s merchandise, he wanted to be good at his job and had read most of the product manuals for the items on display, be they bongs or dongs. With Christmas over, business had slowed and Alvin could catch up on his reading. A new shipment of Fleshlights and pocket vaporizers had arrived that morning, and he wanted to be able to list off all the latest features for the dedicated clientele.
A wizened old woman with a bonnet full of scraggly grey hair shuffled through the door. She was hunched over, pale and thin, and clutched a Bongs & Dongs shopping bag with shaky, liver-spotted hands. Wilbur figured she was older than his grandmother, who was north of seventy-five. He had never seen someone this elderly, male or female, enter the store.
The woman shambled up to the front counter, reached inside the shopping bag, and placed something in front of Wilbur. It resembled an elongated silver doorknob with a smooth, tapered head exactly six inches long, attached to a rounded base adorned with rhinestones. Wilbur recognized it as one of the store’s hottest-selling items leading up to Christmas: the remote-controlled, vibrating Silver Butt-Surfer.
The woman cleared her throat and spoke. “I’d like a refund.” She handed Wilbur the receipt.
Wilbur smiled politely. “Ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t issue a refund unless the item is still in its original packaging. And the remote control is missing.”
The woman’s face started quivering, and then she began sobbing and crumpled against the counter. “My poor Harold! I saved up my pension money for months. I knew how much he wanted the new model with the remote control. But his heart couldn’t take so much pleasure. I never dreamed a prostate orgasm could be fatal.”
Wilbur was startled on several levels and felt his face reddening. “Ma’am, are you telling me this item has been previously used?”
The woman blew her nose into a kerchief. “Not to worry — I ran it through the dishwasher with my dinner plates. It’s as clean as clean can be. Clean enough to eat off of.”
Wilbur failed to prevent himself from imagining a senior citizens’ dinner orgy, where everything that gets used and soiled goes into the dishwasher at the end. “Ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t issue a refund for a used item. Our return policy is stated clearly on the receipt.”
The woman regarded him with rheumy eyes. “Have you no sympathy for a poor widow? This is one pricey dildo.”
“Technically it’s a butt plug, ma’am.”
“It’s absurdly priced, is what it is. But it’s what my Harold wanted more than anything. The delight in his eyes on Christmas morning! And when he tried it for the first time . . .” The old woman gazed wistfully at the device that had both pleasured and killed her husband.
Wilbur’s mouth hung open.
She wagged a crooked finger at him. “If you don’t give me a refund, I’ll have to buy dented cans of cat food so I don’t starve.”
“I . . . I . . . I could give you a refund out of my own pocket.” Wilbur didn’t know what else to do. He just wanted this whole experience to be over with so he could begin trying to forget about it.
“Would you do that for an old lady? You’re a sweet young man. Your parents must be very proud that you have such a good job.”
Wilbur fumbled for his wallet and gave the woman three twenties.
“It was $59.95 before tax,” she said.
Wilbur handed her another ten bucks. “Keep the change.”
The woman pointed at the Silver Butt-Surfer on the counter. “Do you have grandparents?”
“Uh . . . a grandmother.”
“You should give it to her. She may find it more pleasurable than knitting needles and yarn.”
The widow exited the store, leaving Wilbur alone with the slightly used butt plug. He gingerly scooped it up with an old newspaper and dropped it into the trash. For the rest of the day he tried not to think of his grandma.
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