Dude, Where’s Your Condom?

I dreaded it all weekend, but I broke down and went to the Vital Statistics/Department of Health office to get a copy of the middle girl’s long form birth certificate. The version I have, the less expensive one that fits in my wallet, doesn’t have parental information. In order for her to attend the school’s after care program, the long form is needed.

Normally this office is crowded, filled with loud, angry, impatient citizens. I haven’t had to come in person in years, and its procedures have changed dramatically. I was done in under an hour. A feat.

Here is my first encounter:

Security Guard (SG): Fill this out over there and bring it back here.
(I walk away, fill it out and return. The security guard and another woman are arguing).
SG: If I said it, I’d tell you I said it. But I ain’t say it. So she’s a liar and you stupid for listening to her lies.
Other woman: I’m just saying what she said you said.
SG: And if I’da wanted to say that I’d have told it straight to you. Oh my God (to me): You can have a seat. I gotta get me some water. This heifer lying on me, got me all frazzled, done shook my sugar.

As I was leaving:

DOH employee: Miss? Did you get some pamphlets on free health care and grab a few condoms?
Me: Oh, I don’t need any, thanks.
Her: WHAT?! You have to be safe. You always need condoms. Here, take some. Educate yourself.
Me: I’m married.
Her: And? What happens when you go out?
Me: (confused) When I go out?
Her: (exasperated) Yes, when you go to the club and you meet somebody. You will NEED a condom.
Me: Oh. Well, yeah, I guess if I slept around when I went to the club, evidently without my husband, I would. But I’m good, thanks.
Her: Humph (Giving me the “Yup, you’re gonna have VD in a week for sure” face).

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