Published on Mar 27th, 2014 by


So like last year a friend of mine had been catcalled when going to the store for the millionth time, so I was all ‘hey I’ll write a short story about catcalling’ and then I did, and this is it. It contains some typical misogynistic catcalling language but also is hopefully pretty funny so yeah.

100% Pork

Elaine guided her shopping cart around the precariously-balanced Oreo display, deftly avoiding a bored-looking shelf-stacker. Every now and then she stopped, tossing a purchase into the basket. Crackers, chips, dip, Doritos, Mountain Dew, a crate of beer, some hipster vegetarian shit for Cara. A few bottles of red wine for herself, just recreationally.

In the meat aisle, Elaine stopped, frowning. She looked. She looked again. She pawed through the packages; long, pink, glistening oblongs of meat. The sausage selection. Elaine frowned again. Surely this wasn’t right. She walked up and down the meat aisle, looking for another shelf, another section. After ten minutes, she gave up and collared the nearest worker.

“How can I help you ma’am?” he asked. He was young, tired-looking, with spiked-up hair and a pierced lip. His bright red and yellow work shirt clashed dramatically with his black eye-liner.

“I’m looking for sausages,” Elaine said.

The boy began to gesture behind her, already turning away to go back to the cheese counter.

“One hundred percent pork,” Elaine interjected, before he could leave. “I can’t find any.”

The boy looked at her, puzzled. “One hundred percent… pork? They do those?”

Elaine let out a sigh. “Yeah, they do those,” she said. “I just moved here from the west coast. LA. One hundred percent pork sausages all over the place there. You could barely move for them.”

“I, uh, I don’t think Maryland has that kind of thing,” the boy replied. He seemed genuinely vexed. “It seems a bit foreign.”

Elaine rolled her eyes. “Dude, it’s like, a pretty standard sausage,” she said. “It’s hardly bratwurst.”

“I really don’t think we do those. I’ve definitely never seen anything like it.”

“Would you mind just checking?”

The boy nodded, disappeared, then returned with his shift manager, a middle-aged woman who looked rather flustered.

“Sorry about this,” she said. “I told him the sausages were right there. I’ve no idea why he didn’t just show you.”

She leaned in closer to Elaine, mock-whispering in a conspiratorial voice. “He’s new.”

The boy pouted. “She’s after one hundred percent pork sausages,” he said.

The manager, whose nametag read Hi, My Name Is Glynnis, visibly recoiled.


Elaine nodded. “Is it really that outlandish?”

Glynnis put one hand to her mouth. “Gosh, I don’t think those exist, do they?”

“They did in LA,” Elaine said.

“Well,” Glynnis replied. “LA. That’s an entirely different story. All manner of strange delicacies and arcane dishes there. You just can’t get that kind of crazy thing in Maryland.”


After convincing the store workers that it was quite alright, she’d settle for hamburgers instead, Elaine stood in the queue at the checkout, feeling dejected. Her friends were travelling all the way across the country for her housewarming do, and she’d failed. What kind of party didn’t have 100% pork sausages? She knew her friends, knew how outspoken they were on a variety of social media platforms, and knew that without the right sausages, her party would pale in comparison to Lance’s twenty first, which had been a total sausagefest.

“Paper or plastic?” the girl behind the register asked. and Elaine snapped out of her melancholy, barely aware her purchases had been scanned through.

“Whichever,” she said.

The girl smiled at her. “Did you find everything you were looking for today?”

Elaine bit her tongue. “Yes, yes I did.”


Outside, Elaine loaded her groceries into the trunk of her car. As she placed the final bag in, she noticed the hamburgers sitting atop a pint of ice cream, staring at her. Mocking her. Reminding her of her failure. She thrust the bag in hard, scowling. Too hard, in fact, as the paper ripped, sending the hamburgers hurtling to the asphalt. For a moment, Elaine considered stomping on them petulantly, but decided to retain her composure, bending down to pick them up.

From behind her, she heard an obnoxious whistle.

“Check out the ass on that,” a male voice yelled.

Pulling down her skirt at the back, Elaine retrieved the hamburgers and turned, fixing her catcaller with an angry gaze. He was a young male, slightly overweight, his bulging torso squeezed into a tight-fitting leather jacket. He ran one hand through his greasy hair, and fixed Elaine with a cheesy grin.

“Hey baby. Nice tits too,” he said, then paused, a smug look on his face, as if waiting for a response.

“Fuck off, douche canoe,” Elaine snapped back. The boy laughed aloud, and put up his hand for a high five. It was then that Elaine noticed he wasn’t alone. To her dismay, the store assistant from earlier was standing with him, along with another guy, who looked even more morose than eyeliner-boy. The store assistant leaned towards his grubby friend and said something too low for Elaine to catch.

“Pork sausages, huh?” the catcaller yelled. “I’ve got some hundred percent pork for you… right here.”

With that he reached down and cupped his groin with both hands, thrusting forward in Elaine’s direction. The other guy was tapping him on the shoulder.

“This is problematic,” he said, then paused, and grabbed his own groin, although Elaine was unsure as to whose direction he was doing it in. It didn’t seem to be in hers.

“Yeah, keep dreaming shitstain,” she muttered, tossing the hamburgers into the trunk. As she drove away, she stuck her middle finger up at the guys, and felt at least a minor victory as they stood there, looking genuinely dumbfounded, perhaps shocked that she hadn’t ripped her clothes off and jumped them in the parking lot.


That night, Elaine was miserable. She spent some time browsing Facebook, reading her friends’ statuses. Many of them were talking about the party, about how excited they were to be coming. She knew. She knew they wouldn’t be feeling this way if they were aware of her sausage faux pas. She was dreading it. Dreading having them arrive, only to discover what a failure she was. No. Not her. Maryland.

“Fuck the east coast,” Elaine muttered. “I knew it was a mistake to move here. That’s the last time I listen to internet community managers.”

Suddenly, a thought occurred. The party wasn’t for another two days. Mail order. She could mail order 100% pork sausages and have them sent by special delivery. Yes. This was perfect


Elaine began browsing various online butchers. Pork sausages everywhere. California, Texas, Michigan, Alaska. Elaine tried to order a particularly luscious-looking pack from North Carolina. At the checkout, a warning popped up. ‘Sorry, this product does not ship to Maryland’. Elaine closed the site with a sigh, and drank another glass of wine. She tried a different page. The same message appeared. And again. And again. Every single butcher, deli, grocery store or supermarket refused to ship 100% pork sausages to Maryland. Every single one.


Elaine let out a dismayed cry of frustration. That was it. This was the end. She drank another glass of wine, and then another. An idea began to form. Maybe if she couldn’t get the sausages, she could at least fake it. She turned to her most trusted friend, Google, and began to investigate.


The next day, Elaine returned to the store near closing time. The catcaller was still hanging around, along with one of his friends. Inside, Elaine barely paid attention to what she was buying, and at the checkout found herself paying for some malted milk balls, a microwave omelette and some tinned whelks. A couple more bottles of wine too, but those were deliberate.

Elaine loaded up her bags as sensually as possible, at least, if placing two bags into a trunk quickly could be sensual at all. It seemed to be enough though.

“Wahey!” she heard from behind her. “I would tap that ass so hard you’d think I was a woodpecker.”

Elaine hid a laugh behind her hand, then turned to face her harasser. The boy was rubbing his hand over his belly, which today stuck out slightly from under a sleeveless denim jacket two sizes too small for him. Smiling, she approached. The other boy stepped in front of his friend.

“Do not fear, ma’am,” he said. “I will protect you. Allow me to speak to my friend here and explain how this must feel from a woman’s perspective.”

Elaine shoved him aside. “Out of the way, cockbucket,” she snapped, then approached the catcaller. She grabbed the lapels of his jean-jacket, and moved her face close to his.

“I want you inside me,” she said, in the most seductive voice she could muster.

The boy gulped, his eyes wide, then his hands flew to his pants as he began to unbuckle his belt.

“Not here, dipshit,” Elaine replied. “You, me, my hot tub. My place. Now. Do you have a car or do you need a ride?”

The boy stammered for a moment. “I, uh, I took the bus,” he said.

“Ride it is then.”


Back at Elaine’s apartment, the boy sat on the couch, legs together, his hands cupping his knees. He looked nervous. Elaine returned from the kitchen, two glasses of wine in hand. She handed one to the boy, then sat opposite him, drinking her own.

“So,” she said. “Names. I’m Elaine. Or Lainey, if you prefer.”

“Uh, I’m, uh, Mike,” the boy replied, glancing sideways nervously.

“You can relax a bit, you know,” Elaine said. “Drink your wine.”

A thin film of sweat broke out on the boy’s forehead. “Can I, uh, can I touch your boobs?”

Elaine laughed. “Not just yet. Later.”

The boy flushed red, and downed his wine in one long, slurpy gulp. He smacked his lips and put the glass down.

“I’ve… never done this before,” he said.

Elaine smiled. “It’s fine. I’ll be gentle.”

“Who knew this catcalling thing actually worked?” Mike went on. “I’ve been doing it for months with no joy. Was almost beginning to give up. Originally I checked out some pickup artist forums but uh, those guys, they creep me out. It’s like they see women as objects or something.”

Elaine shook her head in mock disgust. “Terrible.”

“So, uh, do you think maybe, uh, will you suck my…” Mike trailed off. He stared at Elaine for a moment, his eyes glazing over, then collapsed forward, his face splatting against the coffee table.

Elaine went to work.


The party was a success. Everyone agreed. Elaine could already picture the Facebook posts that would spring up over the next few days. She stood in the kitchen, chatting to her friend Cliff, who was eating a sausage sandwich.

“These are exquisite,” he said. “Absolutely amazing. The pork is like, so full of flavor.”

“I know right,” Elaine said.

“I was surprised,” Cliff told her. “I’d heard you couldn’t get pork sausages in Maryland.”

“It was difficult,” Elaine replied. “You have no idea how much trouble I went through to get them.”

“You could’ve just asked us to bring some,” Cliff said.

Elaine thought for a moment. “Yeah,” she replied eventually. “I guess that would’ve been easier. Oh well.”

- The End -

Cat On Phone photo by @pixiemania (model: Garnet)

Latest Comments (2)


Do I want to think about what was in those sausages or should I infer this as a twisted horror story?

March 28, 2014 10:52 pm Reply

Trello :)


September 3, 2014 4:19 am Reply

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