The rubber match

I must hear it at least once a shift: "Do you sell condoms?"

Well, no, the store does not.

I'm thinking I'll bolt a condom vending machine onto the back of my truck and park it near the door. Charge a buck each. I'd make a killing.

I'll call my new venture "Where the Rubbers Meet the Road."

'Don't say it that way!'

3 a.m.: Two young men walk in. The first grabs a can of Monster and comes up to the counter.

"Do you guys sell condoms?" he asks.

"No, I'm afraid not," I reply.

"Then what am I going to do about this girl that keeps texting me?" he says, just as the phone in his hand chirps.

"Sorry, I can't help you," I say.

The second man then walks up with a bag of chips.

"Hey! Did you get our condoms?" he asks.

"Don't say it THAT way!," the first man says and giggles.