Humorous Sex Essay
Happy Endings? Batteries Included
a non-fiction erotic essay by, Jane Anderson
Pop by Lee Cropper
Two months into our almost-relationship, Richard dumped me.
On my answering machine.
I was living in Tucson, AZ. Between the climate shock of moving to the world's largest Easy-Bake Oven and the culture shock of working on the Tohono O'odham Nation, my social life wasn't going so well.
But, this was a new low.
The truly sucky thing about Richard's timing, setting aside his mean and inappropriate methodology, was that it was the middle of the month. As in, the middle of my cycle and my hormones were swinging into full-on, get-it-on mode.
Saturday afternoon, after the breakup—a state I'd confirmed by leaving a message about the size of his emotional maturity on his cell phone—I decided to get a grip. I needed to stop weeping, or dialing inappropriate past partner possibilities then hanging up when I got their answering systems.
It was time to get out Poseidon.
My sleek, blue, water proof, multi-speed toy.
Poseidon didn’t work. I turned the knob again and got less of a response than I’d get from a sleepy 50-year-old who’d been drinking all night. So, I checked the batteries and found battery acid in my vibrator.
ARRRGH!
I changed the batteries, and got a pathetic buzz for my technological skill and efforts. Then, in a moment of clarity and intelligence, I decided against using Poseidon for his intended purpose. The corrosion and battery acid couldn’t be good for me!
Instead, I called Famous & Friendly San Francisco Sex Store and had the following conversation:
“Well, you say you’ve had Poseidon since November?” The female customer service representative was as friendly and approachable as the store.
“Uh, yes, and I haven’t used it much. In fact, I’ve never even put it in water.”
“It’s a water proof model, but you haven’t submerged it?” Was she implying that I was missing out on something amazing here?
“Umm, well, not like that. I mean, I’ve washed it off but haven’t, you know, used it. Besides, that shouldn’t affect its performance or the batteries, right?” I glanced at Poseidon, standing erect but useless next to my answering machine.
“Not in a water proof model. So, when you got the product, did it work?”
A long pause on my part. I mean, define work. “Well, yes, it was fine. I mean, it vibrated and had multi-speed and stuff. And it, you know, was fine.”
“So, nothing seemed defective until…?”
“Like, an hour ago when I thought the batteries were dead and I took the cap off and found the CORROSION and the BATTERY ACID.”
“Oh, dear, well don’t touch it and don’t change the batteries. Can you hold?”
Apparently I had no option, given that my vibrator was broken. I was definitely on hold.
“Okay, Jane, we’re going to send you a replacement product, free of charge. I’m very sorry this happened. Can I confirm your address?”
“Umm, yeah, so what do I do with this one? Do you want it returned?”
“Oh. No. I’ve made a note of the call and the defective product and you can just throw out the old one. Oh, and we’ll be sure to include some batteries with your replacement.”
Two days later I chose to work at home and not make the 70 mile drive through the desert to my former-school-room-become-office on the Reservation.
I decided to take an early evening bath and realized, while attempting to adjust the temperature control with my foot, that the polish on my toenails was chipped. So after the bath I pulled on a loose man’s t-shirt (not Richard's, it had belonged to a different ex) and underwear and proceeded to paint a similar snazzy pink color- one coat- on my toes. I called a friend to kill time while my polish dried
About five minutes into the conversation there was a banging on the door. It was UPS. I had no pants on.
They had a box. I couldn't put pants on because of the polish on my toes. So, I grabbed a towel and, figuring UPS delivery men had seen everything, slung the towel sarong style around my hips, and opened the door.
I got a look and I said to the guy, “Trust me, you don’t want to know."
He said probably not, but he was laughing. A lot.
Okay, fine. I signed for the box and glanced at the return address label, only then realizing what it was: my new vibrator.
So, if the UPS guy recognized the Famous & Friendly San Francisco Sex Store company then... he'd just delivered a vibrator to a woman without pants.
Maybe I should have explained about the wet toenail polish.
It had been about two weeks and the new Poseidon vibrator was purring along, as was I.
Life was as normal as it got back then. I drove the 140 miles round trip to work; I ate too much Mexican take out; I slept; I salsa danced with friends; I got my mail; I fed the cat ... I noticed that the batch of mail I'd just picked up had a letter from the United States Postal Service. But it was hand addressed, to me.
Something had come from the government, and it wasn't bulk mail. I was concerned.
Concerned enough to pour a glass of wine and sit down at my kitchen table before I opened the letter.
Dear Postal Customer,
The enclosed mail became damaged or loose ("loose" was circled) during handling with the Postal Service. We regret this mishap and the inconvenience it may have caused you.
Every effort is made to prevent damage...questions...Monday through Friday...above number.
Signature,
Senior Plant Manager
San Francisco
Mail from San Francisco had come loose. It was now in the hand addressed envelope that the USPS had sent me, neatly folded behind the form letter.
I unfolded the "loose" mail and it was another form letter written upon much prettier stationary than that of the USPS. The Famous & Friendly San Francisco Sex Store logo was in the top right hand corner and the letter read, mostly, as follows:
Dear JANE:
Thank you for your recent order #W031297XXXX.
We wanted to inform you that, we have …
Currently we are processing…
The item(s) that we… listed below
If you have any questions please call our Customer Service Dept. at…
Sincerely,
Famous & Friendly San Francisco Sex Store
Customer Service Department
Listed below. At the bottom of the letter was a list. The USPS now knew, for absolute certain that I had replaced one POSEIDON VIBE with another. Also that I got a CATALOG and GV BATTERY AA.
In the course of a month I was dumped on my answering machine, attempted to find solace in the mechanical, and was inadvertently outed to both UPS and the USPS.
It's not that I blamed Poseidon, but something changed the day I got the letters. He just didn't seem worth it—all the drama, the gossip.
Two Saturday nights later, at my favorite salsa club, I accepted an invitation to go to a movie with the exceedingly hot bartender who'd been asking for my number for weeks.
And, a few weeks after that, I woke up to find myself in a very satisfactory relationship. No batteries required.
Originally published July 2011