My suicidal ass:

So I was at the pharmacy and needed to ask one of the pharmacists some questions about my birth control as I had switched to a new medication. I walk over to the consultation window, pills in hand, and some man arrives at the pick-up window, which is right next to it. 

Because at least one mention of menstruation is necessary to discussions about the pill, I unashamedly started to talk to the female pharmacist who was no more uncomfortable than I in getting my questions answered.

However, the man at the window seemed offended by my concerns about my feminine health, saying as an aside to the person behind him that “there is a time and a place for that gutter talk”.

NO FUCKING SHIT, MISTER. THIS IS THE FUCKING PLACE. I thought to myself, mortified not because of the conversation but because this man thought he ought to shame me for this. I exchange a look with the pharmacist, who seems to be having the same thought. Raising her voice slightly above what was considered necessary in a quiet CVS, she pressed for more details on my period, which I happily obliged to supply. And I am POSITIVE the woman assisting him took her damn time just so he would be subjected to imagery about consistency, flow, and duration of my last three periods.