As a pretty innocent and destitute twenty-ish girl, I took a part-time job at the video store a few blocks from my apartment in New Orleans, right on the beautiful St. Charles streetcar line. The store was a pretty impressive operation: good video selection, quite a few snacks, a large rent-to-own furniture section, pay by the minute cell phones, recording studio...and a thriving collection of p-o-r-n that paid for the whole thing. (Not trying to be coy...but experience has taught that you don't want to be Google-searched for that particular keyword). They kind of forgot to mention the p-o-r-n before I took the position.
And this wasn't just any old p-o-r-n section. Without having anything in the world to compare it to besides Skinemax, I'm still pretty sure this was the hard-core stuff. Your basic multiple, um, appendages in one poor overcrowded ass, faces covered in, gulp, slime kind of entertainment. And that's just what was happening on the cover art.
Even better, all my co-workers at the video store worked there for the porn, which was free for employees. And they thought it was very funny to suddenly disappear when customers came to check out p-o-r-n videos, with their discreet billboard-sized stand-ins with the aforementioned activities taking place on them. So if you wanted to enjoy a relaxing night of smut in the privacy of your own home, you had to go through me first. Pervs of the world, I apologize.
My co-workers also thought it amusing to check out the most out-there nasty fetish titles to my account...which then stayed in my permanent rental history.
So this wasn't my favorite job. But it wasn't my least favorite, either.
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