It's a credit card!

Today I did some shopping at a women's clothing store. While there, I saw a retarded man who mentioned that he was shopping for his girlfriend. Which sounds like a joke, but actually, it seemed that he really was as she was there with him. He was dressed in a huge yellow jacket and had thick glasses. The three store staff seemed non-plussed by him.

His name was Douglas which he said over and over. "I AM Douglas!" As if there were some dispute, perhaps internal.

He asked what kinds of payment they took and I overheard one of them offer to set up an account for him (!) which I thought was a little weird. They asked him a bunch of questions and he gave them his social security number, which was written in a notebook with a palm tree on the cover, and address and phone number and after a few minutes they told him he was approved.

"For WHAT?" he asked the cashier. He had lost interest.

"You have an account with us now. It's a credit card." she told him, nodding like it was a big deal.

He then turned around and walked through the store, pulling things off the racks and handing them to his lucky lady. He kept saying, "it's a CREDIT CARD!!" really loud and his girlfriend, happy about this news, started trying the stuff on.

I was observing all this from the bras and underwear section and unfortunately, he came over and started pulling panties off the table and holding them up.

"I'm buying underwear for my GIRLFRIEND. For St. Valentines day." He told me.

I said, "I'm sure she'll like that." Looking closely at a bra, trying not to welcome a conversation.

I heard him make a weird noise so I turned and glancing at him out of the corner of my eye, I saw him rubbing a paid of underwear on his crotch. His eyes were closed and he was moaning softly. Horrified, I wasn't sure if I should say something to him like, "Knock that off, Douglas!" or report it to the store staff. I chose the latter.

"Uhm...it looks like, uh, Douglas, over there is masturbating with a pair of underwear." I laughed uncomfortably. I raised an eyebrow and clenched my teeth in his direction.

The cashier looked at me, also horrified, "Are you shitting me?" she asked.

After a brief conference between the three of them, deciding what to do, the oldest and most experienced (with masturbating retarded adults?) approached him. Politely, she interrupted him and asked him to leave, which went better than I would have thought. He stopped.

"You'll have to go. You can't shop here today."

'Today?' I thought. She must not be working tomorrow.

He seemed to understand the gravity of the situation, but appeared unembarassed and set the underwear down and left. Without his girlfriend. She was in the changing room, and since its walls didn't go up to the ceiling, I assume she heard the whole thing, my report and the subsequent banishment. I wondered how long she would stay in there.

I couldn't help but think of Douglas as I drove home. I wonder if he's going to get that credit card in the mail and try to use it to buy gas or Burger King or something. "It's a CREDIT CARD!"