It’s the opening of a really quirky joke: Two bloggers walk into a drug store.
Except the punchline was more gross than funny.
This blog post is a mash-up of SmashedPicketFences and GettingTheWordsWrong meets product placement fails.
We were looking for something that would prevent Meghan’s kids from throwing up during a road trip.
The store manager escorted us back to the anti-nausea section of the store. Logically, this was placed near the anti-diarrhea medicine. As the store manager pointed out other products, I noticed Meghan’s lips twitch into a suppressed smile, she signed for me to turn around and look at the rest of the aisle.
Directly opposite the anti-diarrhea and anti-nausea medicine was a bank of shelves containing condoms and lubricants. Which now looks a lot like the YA section of a bookstore with it’s black cover wrappings and vague close up photography of wisps of ribbon for color.
The store manager was still there, so we did the whole eye communication thing-y and pretended to be mature.
When the store manager left, Meghan said, “Tina, look what’s behind us.”
I looked at the condoms. Then looked at Meghan. “Yeah, I saw.”
After a moment of giggling like fifteen-year-old girls (maturity has never been our strong suit, especially when we’re together), we brainstormed how to better rearrange the store.
“Condoms don’t belong next to anti-diarrhea medicine. I mean, what kind of story does that tell the clerk if you’re buying both anti-diarrhea and condoms?”
“Do people commonly need both?” I added.
When I worked in a grocery store, there is this whole psychology of trying to get people to buy other things by placing them next to something you need.
Like ‘I came in for milk and at the end cap across from milk was a box of Oreos’ or ‘oh man, I ran out of laundry detergent, but while I’m here I should pick up some cleaning supplies. I should totally clean all the windows in my house.’
Meghan said, “Why would anyone ever need both condoms and anti-diarrheal?”
We stared blankly at each other for a moment.
Then we both shuddered.
“Condoms should be over there,” Meghan said, pointing to the wine aisle. “It should go wine, condoms, pregnancy tests.”
“That’s too ideal,” I said. “Real life would go: pregnancy tests, wine, condoms. Because I’d like to believe people learn from their mistakes. And chocolate should be in there, too.”
Meghan shrugged. “An end cap?”
We debated the order of operations for a few minutes before checking out, but we both agreed that condoms definitely did not belong next to anything related to the stomach flu or an unfortunate decision to try out that hole-in-the-wall restaurant where they call the cook “Buster” and he’s not wearing a shirt.
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