When my friend “David” turned 12 or 13, he made the kind of odd choice to have his party at a restaurant called Cafe 50s. I say it’s kind of odd because I’m pretty sure the restaurant’s target demographic is people who actually lived in the 50s and know what they’re trying to replicate there. In any case, we got burgers, shakes, and fries, and spent a bunch of time asking his parents for change so we could play songs on the mini jukeboxes or try to grab some crappy toy with a mechanical crane. If I’m not mistaken, there was also a very anachronistic Ms. Pacman game there, but I could be making that up since it seems so illogical to me now.

After an hour or so of playing around while the adults ate at a separate table, a few of us went into the bathroom. “What’s that?” someone said, pointing to a plain gray box on the wall by the door. It had a slot for coins at the top, a small sign indicating that whatever it was cost fifty cents, and a slot at the bottom. Upon closer inspection, I saw a couple of faded letters with big spaces between them where their fallen letter comrades had once lived. There was a C, enough room for two missing letters, a D, then a few more open spots. I stared at it for a minute while the others speculated before I said authoritatively, “It said ‘Condoms.'” The room got quiet and they turned to me, to the box again, and back to me. “Are you sure?” “No, but what else could it be?”  They stared back at the box with wide eyes, trying to figure out if my mad word skills were accurate.  (Duh.)  Finally David spoke: “We’re gonna need more change.”

We agreed that in order to secure the needed half dollar, our money-seeking tactics had to be identical to how we previously asked so as to not arouse suspicion.  David got the first quarter from his dad pretty easily, and we hung out by the jukebox and pretended to push buttons for songs we knew we’d never hear.  A few minutes later, another friend asked his parents for a quarter.  And like that – we were in business.  We reconvened in the bathroom and David slowly put the quarters in the machine before turning the handle.  For a second it didn’t look like it was going to work, but then something appeared in the slot at the bottom.  David snatched it from the machine and held it out in his open hand; it was indeed the square wrapper of a prophylactic.  We took turns poking at the raised ring within the wrapper for a minute before realizing that there was nothing else to do.  I remember thinking that it wasn’t very exciting after all and that I’d prefer to hear Del Shannon’s “Hats Off to Larry” another time or two on the jukebox instead.

A couple of days later, David called me at home and got right to the point: “My parents found out about the condom.”  “How?” I asked, and I’ll never ever forget his reply: “I wore it to school.”  In his infinite wisdom, he put it on in the morning – I didn’t ask if he was in a state of arousal or not – and then told some people in a misguided attempt at bragging.  Someone told a teacher, and though he’d already thrown it away in the bathroom, he admitted it when confronted and spilled the whole story to his parents.  I asked why he would ever think of “wearing” it to school, and he said he was just curious.  I can understand that to some extent, and it’s not like he was anywhere near using it with another person, but…no, that’s just weird.

Later that night, I heard my mom on the phone and could tell that it was David’s mom telling her what happened.  A little later, she came into my room and confirmed as much.  “And you were the one who figured out what the machine was for?” she asked.  I told her I did, and explained about there only being two letters.  Though she tried to hide it, I could tell that she was pretty proud of my word puzzle skills.  Then it was her turn to say something that I’ll never forget: “How did you even know that word?  In my day, we just called them ‘rubbers.'”  Good to know, Mom.

That whole story came flooding back to me when I drove past Cafe 50s recently, and it had been years since I’d thought of that series of events.  In hindsight, I think David’s parents should have been glad that he was practicing safe schooling instead of going to junior high without protection.  One thing’s for certain: “Hats Off to Larry” still sounds great after all these years and makes me nostalgic for a time decades before I was born.