The thing about getting older if you realize adults weren’t kidding when they said they just bought Playboy for the articles, because, really, the porn in it is pretty damn boring. Before I learned that lesson, however, I thought Playboy was the cat’s meow. And, indeed, there are times when I wanted a copy of the magazine: like, for instance, when Charisma Carpenter was featured. Even though I was well into my mid-twenties at that point, I did not pick up a copy myself, rather I asked an employee of the pizza shop I was managing to snag a copy on his way back from a run.

Because there are some things I’m not comfortably buying in a store, even if by store I mean “a run down little corner market staffed by some geriatric foreigner who doesn’t speak a lick of English.”

So flash forward five years (to last night), and I’m sorting some CDs at the Music Information desk at the Bookstore before I reshelve them. An attractive woman with a stack of bargain children books under one arm comes up to the desk with a “please, help me” expression on her face and I smile and ask her, “What are you looking for?” In a fairly thick Spanish accent, she says, “This, please” and hands me a yellow notepad with a title written on it.

I read the title, and immediately felt obliged to ask her, “This is the title that you want? Or did someone ask you to pick this up for them?” And I asked this because A.) I was expecting a family-friendly title, given the kids’ books she’s holding and B.) quite a long while ago, a couple guys in an office somewhere nearby decided to play a prank on one of their coworkers by asking her to stop by our store and pick up a book they’d put on hold. The book was “Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women“, and the woman they played this prank on was somewhere between a mental breakdown and an apocalyptic fit of destruction and rage when I brought the book over to the register. Really, I felt sorry for those guys.

But no, the woman at the desk last night assured me this was a title she wanted, for herself. The title? “Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women.”

First thought: Seriously? This is a book you’re willing to come in to a Bookstore and try to find? And not being able to find it, you ask for help? Honestly, I’d have to dredge every last ounce of courage just to take any of our wide and vast pornographic collection up to the register, never mind asking someone for help finding something like it. Brave, brave lady.

And, yes, we do have a “wide and vast pornographic collection”: much of it is scattered, particularly amongst our assorted Art and Photography sub-sections, which include a book of glossy photos of ladies’ underwear for fetishists, along with the art-nude books, but most of it is in our Sex section (duh). The Sex section includes a giant book with a pink cover and an illustration of a penis, titled simply, “Penises”. Can’t tell you how much I love reshelving that title (which is to say, I tend to just leave it where it is). In addition to hosting the Kama Sutra, the section also holds a wide variety of sex guides, including, The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex For Women. Well, it didn’t hold it last night, because we were out. And being that we were out, I gallantly volunteered to see if any of our other stores in the area had a copy.

The guy who answered the phone at our store on Wisconsin Avenue broke out laughing when he entered the inventory number in the computer and saw the title. He put me on hold for a far too brief time period, and I suspect he couldn’t keep from laughing long enough to actually go check the shelf. I had a rather similar experience from the next two stores I called — one poor guy made it sound like the Devil would steal his soul if he ventured into their Sex section, and couldn’t find someone to check for him — but on my fourth call, I hit pay dirt.

Thank you, Alexa (made-up-name). Because I gave her the inventory number, and she pulled it up, and she was all-a-giggle, but not in a “I wouldn’t touch this book with a ten foot pole kind of way”, but a “Oh my god! That’s my favorite section!” My kind of lady. And thirty seconds later, she was back on the phone. “I’ve got it! And you owe me!”

Er, I do? Because, look: I am not the one trying to put my penis up this customer’s ass (not that I would object). As far as I’m concerned, the customer, or whomever’s penis the customer wants to put up her ass, owe Alexa for finding said book.

Well. Maybe it depends on how Alexa wants to be owed.

Sadly, the best part was the customer’s last name. Because I feel at least a bit of responsibility to keep things a little anonymous, I won’t be publishing it. Feel free to guess, however.