When I was a teenager (much like now actually) I would pretty much do anything for a laugh, which is basically how I ended up mystery shopping sexual health clinics.

Mystery Shopping is basically when a company wants to make sure everything is running smoothly with their company without just sending the boss around and everybody being on their best behaviour, they send some random in who checks things out and then gets something free (in this case I got condoms and lube, yay paaaaaarty! Hahaha seriously though I was single at the time and I think most of the condoms went out of date before I started going out with anybody who could use them), and/ or is traumatised out of ever mystery shopping again (as happened to a guy I knew who was also mystery shopping sexual health clinics).

Anyhow, we were given some brief training to prepare (hahahahahahahahhahahaha) us, and then given our days and dropped off around the corner from whatever clinic we were going to by someone who would then wait in their car until we came back, either with a thousand yard stare, or laughing so hard we couldn’t breathe.

So in I walked, checked in with the woman on reception and told her I wanted to sign up for the card that meant you could get free condoms if you were under 25, sat down and listened to the entirety of the Best of Marilyn Manson while I waited for someone to call my name (I gave a fake name, but I cannot for the life of me remember what it was, probably some obscure background character from the Harry Potter books, only presumably a normal-ish sounding one, not Charity Burbage ), yeah it was a pretty busy clinic, it was still heaving with people when my name was finally called, this is important, remember that bit.

So in I went to this room with a woman who I thought couldn’t be far off retirement, and she sat me down and I explained that I wanted to sign up for a condom card. At this point they were supposed to explain good condom using practice (don’t put two on at once, no you can’t jut use a crisp packet instead, for the love of god don’t re-use them. That sort of thing), and have you put a condom on a wooden demonstrator that looked like something you’d find in the back of a Neolithic cave that archaeologists would claim was a fertility statue, and not you know… A dildo.

Yeah none of that happened and I made a mental note to mention that on the score card, instead she raced straight into the sign up form, however instead of just handing me the sheet so I could fill it in myself she started reading questions out.
Name,
Date of birth,
Sexuality –

Wait, that last one, that one wasn’t on the form, I’d seen the form, and not only was it not on the form we were specifically told that they WEREN’T ALLOWED TO ASK THAT, so I mildly panicked and stuttered out

“B-b-bisexual?”

At which point this woman screwed her face up a bit and shuffled to the door, that led to the very, very open plan waiting room and yelled:

“WE NEED THE BISEXUAL LEAFLETS!!!” down the corridor to one of her colleagues.
Back in the room there’s me wishing the ground would swallow me up and thanking multiple deities that my boss is around the corner in a Jeep reading a newspaper.
She shuffled back in and sat back down, at which point it got weirder.
“Now to be safe with another woman you need to use a dental dam -”
Because you know, only women have oral sex obviously.

She gave me a whole painstakingly awkward talk on how to use dams (which didn’t include, pick it up, sniff it and conclude nothing that smells like Poundland lipbalm is going anywhere near your vulva), and how you can’t use the card I was signing up for to get dam but they could order some in for me.
She gave me a far more detailed talk on dams than she had about condoms, and by the time there was a knock on the door I literally wanted to die.
The knock at the door by the way, was someone who informed us they didn’t have any bisexual leaflets, at which point I was handed my shiny new condom card, told to come back in a week for my dams and directed to the reception desk to get my first bag of free condoms.
I basically ran out the door with the bag and straight around to the car, where I collapsed into the passenger seat in a fit of giggles as I explained what had happened.

It also turned out that the whole bag was all regular condoms. They were supposed to give a mix of different kinds unless someone asked just for regular or had a latex allergy.
I often wonder if there is still a little purple baggie of dental dams sitting on a window somewhere with my fake name on it.

So yeah, next time you feel a bit embarrassed about something, just think to yourself, at least an old lady didn’t yell about how you needed bisexual leaflets down a packed hallway.