My entire life, I’ve been a good student: it’s just something I cannot shake, regardless of the subject. I’ve always read voraciously—and the story was no different with the instructions for my newly purchased vibrator, even though they were presented in the uninspired format of an enumerated series of rules.
Eager to learn, as always, I devoured the (admittedly rudimentary) prose of the Customer Information section; moving swiftly to the Instructions. This text was illuminating, albeit relatively passionless—and as such, I was certain that the final segment of the trio would be far more lyrical, or at least, impressively stylized.
Now, I could not possibly be faulted for expecting only genius following the subheading “Warnings and general advice”. And numbers one through nine certainly delivered.
But then, there it was.
Rule #10.
“10. Do not throw onto a fire.”
Rule #10—unceremoniously sandwiched within a set of but 16 rules, mind you—just callously completely and utterly negating the very purpose for which I had purchased this vibrator.
To say I felt unforgivably, irrevocably deceived would be an understatement.
Even the mere notion that such a quality product could so casually disappoint—nay, defraud—a trusting consumer, is nothing short of a travesty. And yet, there it was in my hands: brazen and unabashed in its fundamental betrayal of the unspoken promise to its purchaser; that it was ready to be thrown onto a fire.
All I had wanted to do was to purchase this not inexpensive sex toy, pay for its delivery to my home address, fret about whether or not the delivery person would suspect the package’s controversial contents, and then promptly toss it upon a raging fire as the Lord intended!
But, having seen this unfortunate warning, how could I now, in good conscience, perform the singular act for which I had expressly purchased this vibrating, silicone replica of a human penis?
(And never mind the short yet patronizing note about the environment and the legal ramifications of not properly disposing of used batteries that followed Rule #10. As if anything mattered, after this revolting revelation. Not even the Earth’s ecosystem itself, on which we all rely, had any place of import in my mind in that moment: such was the distress Rule #10 had inflicted upon this unsuspecting, innocent ingénue.)
I could tell the vibrator itself was reveling in its deceit, its bright purple hue a cruel yet appropriately mocking reminder of my former naivetée. If I could not, morally and ethically, throw this vibrator onto a fire, what other use could it possibly have? If I could not throw this vibrator onto a fire, what was this entire industry about? How did they survive, sorely disappointing 100% of their customer base, 100% of the time?
If this vibrator could not be thrown onto a fire, what even could it be thrown into? No mention was made of a whirlpool or typhoon, no express prohibition on tossing it into a treacherous abyss or deep, untraversed crevasse. But could I take the risk? Not to mention the expense!
The fact that I am not allowed to throw this vibrator onto a fire is not only ridiculous, but classist. Regular fires are very accessible, indeed I am stoking several in my very own home right now. Should I have to book a trip to Hawaii to take advantage of the obvious loophole of throwing it into a volcano? Must I befriend an elderly Venetian glassblower and surreptitiously toss it into his furnace whilst his attention is elsewhere? Sure, I could do these things—and easily! But should I have to? I think not!
It’s 2020, people! I should be able to throw as many vibrators onto as many fires as I goddamn please!
televanessa 