Planned Parenthood for the Soul
“So, what do you want to get checked?”
It’s always good to be sexual responsible. The nurse asks if I want extra contraceptives.
“Sure.” I shrug.
She grabs a brown paper bag and counts out my prescribed year’s worth of birth control pills. Then she peruses the shelves and grabs a few boxes of Plan B and places them in the paper bag. The nurse asks if I use diaphragms. I just shake my head ‘no.’ I continue to sit and watch for what seems like slow, tick tocking minutes. She grabs a large handful of condoms from a Costco size box, puts them in the bag, and grabs more.
I start to laugh hysterically and she looks at me bewildered.
“I really don’t need that many condoms!” I exclaim.
“You never know.”
“I’ll probably hand them out to my friends like I’m the condom fairy.”
I leave the clinic with my bag over flowing like I’ve won the lottery of contraceptives and thinking it’ll probably last me a loooong time.
Once I exit the doors on Valencia, I am relieved to see that it’s pretty dark outside now, shielding me from any possible familiar faces driving or biking down the street.
I take a few steps and hear my name.
I turn around and come face to face with an old co-worker who art directed at Apple.
“What are you doing here?” he asks as his eyes dart to my bag.
Is that really a question? I clutch my paper bag bulging with condoms under my arm even more tightly.
“Uh, oh you know… for funsies… and making sure everything is all good.”
“You didn’t have to answer that.”
Then why the hell did you ask???
I awkwardly acknowledge that it was a pleasure to see him, nonetheless, and scurry home with red face in the dark evening. Once I get home I disperse a range of multicolored condoms to my roommates, who accepted them gleefully. The rest are still in the brown paper bag sitting under my bedside table.