Don’t click on this page of the old lady catalog if you are a prude, and don’t click on it unless you are away from prying eyes. This is definitely an “over 18” type of page.

It’s amazing what’s available in the magical world of Internet ordering.  One used to have to go to the Lion’s Den or a similar establishment to buy such merchandise, risking embarrassment should someone see one’s car in the parking lot.  Now you can send massagers, other “over 18” items, etc. effortlessly and anonymously to friends and enemies alike.

I admit there was a time when I had a pretty evil streak, and I’ve not entirely lost my appetite for being petty and vindictive in certain situations.

When I was working at a local Toyota dealership (same place where the coke junkie tried to strangle me) they hired a woman to sell cars.  It’s not unusual today for women to sell cars, and some of the best sales people out there today are women, but back then it was quite unusual. 

This particular woman was not very well suited for selling cars- or doing much else outside of dropping her drawers- for that matter.  I’m all for women being in non-traditional career fields (I’ve been in automotive pretty much my entire life) but with one very important disclaimer.  If you think you are going to play the “token” card, or worse, prostitute yourself to get ahead, instead of getting ahead the old fashioned way- by becoming the most skilled and qualified person out there through hard work and merit- I have absolutely no use for you.  I will undermine you and expose you for the fraud you are, every chance I get.

This being said, at first I really tried to help this chick out when I could.  She was very dingy and very clueless, but I did try to help her out and keep her from getting into too much trouble even when she promised customers extra stuff without making sure she had it written into the deal, when she misrepresented either the product or the dealership’s services, and other dumb-assed mistakes.   However, when she made it a point to go back in the shop and bend over while wearing a very short skirt and a very low cut shirt in front of the technicians, I started to wonder what the bloody hell she was thinking.  The techs got a good laugh out of it- because even had she been attractive, her strutting and posing in front of them would have been in poor taste. 

I found out after awhile that she was actually sleeping with guys to get them to buy cars which was sad on many levels.  First of all, she was probably the same age I am now- cougar aged at least- but she dressed like a 17 year old hooker trying to pick up soldiers on leave at the bus station.  I know my cougar aged butt needs coverage and lots of it.  Hers certainly did too, and her dress and her behavior combined to create a most ridiculous spectacle.  Who wants to observe some paunchy, wrinkly old bitty with cottage-cheesy looking bare legs tottering about perched on stiletto sandals, with all her middle-age spread stuffed into a sleeveless low-cut dress which made her torso appear as if she had stuffed too much sausage into a too small casing?  To add insult to injury she wasn’t very good at matching.  Bold patterns and bright colors are fine- I wear a lot of them- but wearing one print on the shirt and a conflicting one on the skirt is not flattering.  Neither are bare legs and sandals when you’re at least 35 and more than a little on the portly side. 

It is no crime to be old or large (and she was both) but dress accordingly.  Coverage is the key word here, ladies. Especially when you work surrounded by men who will make commentary on your attire.

Thunder Thighs was starting to try my patience not only because she didn’t have a clue how to do her job, but she simply oozed sleaze.  She exemplified every bad stereotype regarding women in the workplace.  It was gross enough the way she flirted with customers.  Perhaps twenty years earlier she could have gotten away with her dress and behavior, but it really got nasty when she would come back to the shop and annoy the techs.  At first it was almost funny but it eventually got to be rather pathetic to watch her scatting about like a cat in heat.

Anyway, after she had cursed us with her presence for about six months or so, I had gotten wind that she had decided to take off and shack up with a client or something of that nature (in all honesty I don’t trust rumor mills, so who really knows why she quit, I’m just glad she got away from me) so I simply had to get her a parting gift.  I’m not into flowers or Tupperware or hinky stuff like that.  As an example, I once bought a particularly annoying service advisor an inflatable pig and put it right on top of his computer monitor on his last day.  It was well-deserved, and therefore, hilarious.

I bought her something I figured she could get a lot of use out of, and that the guys up front would enjoy seeing her open up.

There’s a chain of stores in Columbus and vicinity called Waterbeds ‘n Stuff, which is sort of like Lion’s Den, but with more of an emphasis on gag gifts and cards and trinkets, though they have a formidable “over 18″ section.   It’s the place where I found the inflatable pig.  Waterbeds ‘n Stuff was the perfect place to find this sleazy old cougar a parting present she- and the guys at the shop- would never forget.

$37 later I got Johnson.  Johnson is, well, a 24” johnson.  I had it all boxed up and ready to go, only to discover that Thunder Thighs had cleaned out her desk and beat feet without even bothering to formally say goodbye.

Good riddance.  The bad part of the story is that almost 20 years later I still have Johnson.  I should have put it in one of the techs’ tool boxes or something, but back then $37 was quite a chunk of change.

Oh, well.  In retrospect it would have been a rather cruel, though appropriate, prank.