On a boring night during my eighteenth year of life, a couple of my friends and I were driving around looking for something, anything to do. We had the staples: smokes, gas, dinner and coffee and were aimlessly driving around. As we passed a video store that I had recently procured a membership thanks to another friend of mine, I had a brilliant idea. ‘œHey guys,’ I suggested, ‘œHow about we pop in the video store to pick up a gross porno to watch?’
The idea was considered golden, and we headed inside.
Back in the restricted adult section, we went to town. Scrupulously we scoured the shelves for something ala Fatties Hump Old Men or Midgets Do Manhattan. Porno after porno was rejected as none was quite up to snuff in comedic value. Finally, after what seemed like hours of searching, we found our diamond. The movie was called ‘œAnal Clinic’ and it was to be our entertainment for the evening.
We headed back to my ex-boyfriends house to watch our little gem along with a bottle of (stolen) red wine, giggling like schoolchildren on the way home, someone saying ‘œAnal Clinic’ at odd intervals which would be met with peals of laughter throughout the car.
We popped downstairs, after rounding up some of the usual suspects and settled in to watch Anal Clinic. The movie was nothing like we’d thought it would be. It was a European porn, full of men with men having anal sex with various people.
AND IT WAS SUBTITLED. WHO WATCHES SUBTITLED PORN? What are you going to miss, exciting plot twists? It’s a PORN, ergo it HAS NO PLOT.
After about 15 minutes, we decided that the porno was too lame to even be watched, so we formulated a new plan. We decided to go naked hot tubbing, throwing ourselves down in the snow and running back to plop into the hot tub to warm up.
We were brilliant, brilliant people.
As I was getting ready to leave for the evening, I popped back downstairs to the basement to collect my disappointing porno so that I could drop it off on my way home. I checked the VCR, but it was totally empty. Figuring that someone else had decided to watch something less boring, I checked the area immediately around the entertainment center. No go. Thinking that it may have been shoved into the couch, I checked between the cushions. Nothing, save for a gold brick (seriously. My ex-boyfriend was very, VERY rich. But this is a story for another day) and a couple of dollars in change. Pocketing the change, but leaving the brick, I summoned the rest of the kids to help me look for the porno. Nada. Zilch. Zip. Zero.
I waited furiously for the next couple of days to see if anything would turn up. Nothing did.
Figuring that the movie was already late, I wanted to circumvent any phone calls to my house, as I could just IMAGINE my parents reaction, ‘œRebecca? The video store called and they need you to return Anal Clinic, ‘ I popped by the video store so that I could pay for my lost stolen porno.
Walking the ultimate walk of shame, I headed into the store. I approached the pimply-faced 16 year old kid working behind the counter and said in the most clear and least shamed voice I could muster given the circumstances, ‘œI need to buy Anal Clinic.’ Turning such a deep red that he looked iridescent purple, the pimples a stark white contrast to his face, he sputtered that I would have to come back when his manager was there. Trying not look ashamed, I walked out, head as high as I could make it go.
Several days later, I headed back to see the manager. By this time I was an old pro at this. I marched right up to him and said the exact same thing, ‘œI need to buy Anal Clinic.’ I didn’t bother to explain WHY I needed the movie, or what had happened, as I was certain that he’d heard it all before. I paid the $36ish dollars, and upon waiting for my receipt, the manager mysteriously disappeared to the back room.
He returned several minutes later with a movie box in hand, the title obscured by his ginormous man-hands. He handed me the box along with my receipt, and I was on my way. After hopping back into my car, I allowed myself to look down at the box in my hands.
The manager had given me the original box for Anal Clinic, complete with cover art and bold blaring title.
Just what I’d always wanted: a $36 box of the most shameful porno in history.
All right, lovers, dish to Aunt Becky. What was one of the most shameful things you’ve ever had to do?