I worked at Taco Smell as a teenager and the topic of conversation was dependably either rude customers, classic cars, or sex.

One of the older girls at the "fine dining establishment" was not only overweight, she was ugly. Really, really ugly and her favorite topic was sex. (Luckily for her, she had one year prior found an equally ugly human specimen to marry.) She liked to embarrass the younger girls. Me, included.

Smiling brightly, she asked me, "Are you a screamer, biter, or scratcher?" Seeing as how there was a hot young customer re-filling his coke nearby, I tried to ignore her.

"Are you a screamer, biter, or scratcher?", she repeated.

I hate to date myself this way, but this was way before "Sex and the City" and  just prior to Meg Ryan's infamous orgasm restaurant scene in "When Harry Met Sally". Though sex was a popular topic of conversation at work, it largely centered on who was having it with who and not on female orgasms, per se, particularly not on my own very personal female orgasms.

"I see," she said. I tried not to look directly at her, not only because she was embarrassing me in front of the hot customer, but because she was one of those people it was really, really hard to look at. "You're not a do-er at all. You're not an orgasmer."

An already difficult situation was quickly worsening. I looked around and yes, my not-so-secret crush/co-worker/high school drop-out friend was in the vicinity. Just what I needed.- I was mortified. I felt like Claire in “The Breakfast Club” when she was being vilified for her virginity. (You remember that, right: Answer the question, Claire. Answer the question.  Come on sport, you ever slipped her the hot-beef injection”?)

The “crush” looked at me, waiting for my answer, too. What was I supposed to say? I figured anything I said would totally screw me. If I said I was a virgin, the crush would assume I was a prude and would never want to have anything to do with me. If I said anything else, the harasser (the ugly girl) would never leave me alone.

I opted to take the fifth and keep my silence. This didn’t turn out so well either.  In the back of the “restaurant” (for lack of a better term) was Nolan, the pervert who would have been fired a thousand times over for sexual harassment. He came up behind me and clasped my waist, which always felt creepy.  Being a little shy and knowing he was my manager, I didn’t tell him to get his filthy paws off of me. Again, I opted for silence.

The cute guy refilling his Pepsi had already left the restaurant, but everyone else still seemed interested in the conversation. I wanted to divert the conversation, but asking the same question to the ugly girl was out of the question. Would you want to visualize that? I wanted to get Nolan’s hands fricking off me, but was too young to know he would have been in more trouble than I for that little situation. But what I really wanted was to disappear from the restaurant.

None of what I wanted to happen happened.

The ugly girl kept repeating her question.

 Nolan kept moving his hands over my hips.

 And, I had truly lost the respect of my crush. In what could have been a romantic conversation on a romantic trip to the dumpster, he told me I was a really nice girl, but more like an elementary school student in his eyes. 

I know that people say that people grow up too fast these days with more sex on tv and the evil Dan Savage to contend with, but the reverse is also not so nice all time.