On Having A Girlfriend
Frank Demma
Having never bought Plan B before, I referred to the RiteAid cashier, a South Asian woman who looked to be clocking off. “Behind the counter, yes,” she’d answered morosely. I had been searching for them near the condoms in the feminine care/family planning section. Clearly this had been naïve. Instead, emergency contraceptives could be found amongst all the things that contained nicotine: cigarettes, gums, lozenges, chews. After my brief exchange with the cashier, I floated over to the frozen section for a pint of ice cream, returned to the register, waited in a short line, and was helped by a different cashier, an older, straight-backed, white woman with dyed hair. She casually placed the Plan B next to my ice cream without a word about it, rung me up, and intuitively began putting both my items into a bag, though I had not asked for one. As I turned to walk out, she said “God bless you” with a certain feeling.
I wondered. I assumed she overheard my question to the other cashier. Perhaps she was trying to treat me delicately as I was clearly unaccustomed to buying Plan B. Maybe I reminded her of someone. But there was a real care overlaying her few actions towards me, a care I have not always known to emanate from RiteAid employees.
I wish the same cashier had been there when I came back a week later to buy a 28-pack of Always Infinity FlexFoam Pads (Size 3, Heavy Flow). She had been insistent on FlexFoam due to her sensitivity to textures. And, I wondered, standing at the register, had the same cashier seen me, would she bless me again?
Frank Demma is a writer, director and performer living and working in Los Angeles. His writing has appeared in swampspit and The Living Room. In addition, he curates a reading series of the short works of Clarice Lispector. Frank works as a substitute teacher.