Dear Young Dude,
I’m sorry I let you cut in front of me at the store. You see, I noticed you only had a can of soda in your hand, and I knew that my overladen basket of groceries would take a while to scan and bag. Also, I had my eye on that giant can of Diet Red Bull in the case near the register, and I thought that letting you go in front of me would give me time to get some of that delicious highly-caffeinated goodness. So I waved you ahead of me, only half noticing how you nervously avoided my eyes as you muttered your thanks.
So when I noticed you reaching for a package of condoms that they display right at eye level right at the register where everyone and god can see you reaching for them, I politely averted my gaze, while smiling secretly to myself knowing that some young person was going to be having some safe sex tonight.
It was because I felt so happy for you that what happened next was so painful to witness; it was the sort of thing that can scar a person for life. It really sucked that those condoms were hung on one of those flimsy plastic strips that never seem to work properly: either they cling to the tiny packages with the claws of an eagle, or they have a tendency to drop every single package at the barest touch of a hand.
And then, there’s the third situation, and I’m really sorry it happened to you.
Sometimes those plastic strips don’t even stay where they’re supposed to. Sometimes those plastic strips come completely off their hooks, clattering noisily to the floor, drawing attention, and spilling packages of condoms everywhere.
So, I’m really sorry, young dude. I didn’t know you were getting condoms … I didn’t know that you would suddenly be surrounded by Moms and their kids and surly looking older men who would all see you knock and entire display of Trojans to the floor of a busy supermarket at 5 p.m. on a Friday.
Sorry dude. I hope you weren’t too embarrassed, and I hope you have the most fantastic safe sex of your entire life tonight.