by
Art Buchwald *
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Should condom companies be permitted to beat the drum for their products on national TV?
I say they should.
I had a passing acquaintance with condoms long before they became an advertising issue. But our generation never called them condoms. They were Trojans. Even in those days brand name was everything.
The first thing we learned in the P.S. 35 schoolyard was that Trojans came three in a pack, and that you had better carry them at all times because you never knew when lightening was going to strike.
We looked upon anyone who carried Trojans as our role model, and believed as gospel everything he told us about his sex life. They were lies, all lies, but they certainly held our attention.
The toughest thing about Trojans was obtaining them from the drugstore. The attempt to purchase them has been dramatized in every book and movie you can think of, and none of it is exaggerated.
On Jamaica Avenue it went like this: I entered and went to the soda fountain for a chocolate egg cream. Then I cased the store, waiting for it to be empty, or as near to empty as it could get. I read comic books until Doc Fiedler's counter was clear.
Doc Fiedler always kept the Trojans under the cash register next to the Feen-a-mint and Jergens lotion. I once peeked back there to see how they were stacked. Finally, after buying a small tube of Ipana toothpaste, I said, in a very high, screechy voice, "Oh, I forgot. I believe I'll have a pack of Trojans, for my uncle."
Doc Fiedler looked at me suspiciously. "You got a date with Jean Harlow tonight?" he asked.
"Maybe. Are those the real thing?"
As I think back, I'm sure Doc had trouble restraining a grin. He said, "You can have a money-back guarantee on all three."
I gave him fifty cents and stuffed the Trojans in a wallet, where they remained untouched for ten years.
Then they were discovered by my sister, who demanded to know what I was doing with them. I said that I had bought them for an emergency when I was twelve years old, but sadly for everyone, I never needed them.
As most sisters would do, she called me a pig.
Even in the forties some people didn't appreciate the importance of having protection at a moment's notice.
So far as I can tell, Trojans went into a decline after Wold War II and miracle drugs took their place.
In fact, folklore has it that if it hadn't been for schoolkids buying Trojans to impress their friends, the company might have gone under.
Now condoms are back, and they are trying to sell them on national TV. I don't believe that Doc Fiedler is still with us, but if he is, he doesn't have to worry about putting Trojans under the counter anymore. You can have a nice big display in your store window and no one could care less.
You would think now that Trojans are so popular, I'd stock up on them. But that isn't the case. The fun of buying them was sneaking to the back of the store and making my purchase before anyone caught me. Besides, what's the big deal of showing off to all my friends when they can see them for themselves next to the L'eggs display by the door?
I know that there are people who object to the sale of condoms on the premise that they lead to promiscuity. They have nothing to fear. Ninety-eight percent of all men who carried them in their wallets for forty years have never broken the seals.
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* Source: Art Buchwald, "I Think I Don't Remember" (Perigee Books, 1987)
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