Ive been mistaken for a prostitute on three separate occasions.
No its true. Not my finest moments of course but each of the stories amuse me in their own way. The life I live is anything but ordinary.
1. July 2002, day trip into London with some fellow actors. A night in the city well deserved after days of brutal rehearsal under the direction of a tyrant and an imbecile. I was wearing jeans, a t-shirt, a pony tail. The hot summer day had melted my natural curls into natural kink (and not the fun kind.) I was sans appeal. I was also in a group, on a walk, in a city.
So what if it was Soho, the red light district of London. So what if its seedy reputation screams out "young girls beware." So what if the t-shirt I was wearing read "Got Crabs?" and apparently the gentleman took that to mean "If the answer is No, I dont have crabs, Ill be happy to take your money in exchange for sex."
There was still no reason for that man to have his driver pull over and run after me with five 100 dollar bills and a penthouse promise.
"I have a boyfriend" I said in my natural accent (an unusual occurrence for crazy me.)
"Bring him along" the man said and Im sure that I blushed.
The answer was a simple "no."
2. June 2004, Pikes Place Market. It was supposed to be an 80's day with my favorite witch but she cancelled last minute and I was too hot to stay in. Frayed denim skirt, off the shoulder baggy purple sweatshirt, leg warmers, hoop earrings. I admit the blue eyeshadow might have been a little much but you cant half-ass the 80's.
Just leaving the market I am immediately surrounded by a group of questionable gentlemen who very quickly make their desires known. I nervously hurry through the bunch without so much as a word and think that Ive survived without harm or humiliation.
I was wrong. The next alleyway introduced me to two of Seattles finest. Everybody loves a cop on a bike, especially when they think youre a street walker.
"No, Im just shopping sir, and I happen to like the 80's" (No accent, cant lie to a cop.)
"Any I.D. on you Maam?"
"Yes sir."
"Ooohhhh...youre from Las Vegas....(whispering amongst themselves)..."
"Yes sir."
"Well I dont know what they do in Las Vegas, Maam, but here in Seattle were not looking for trouble."
The answer was a "No......officer, that was not my intent"
After a few more ridiculous words I was on the bus headed towards the top of Queen Anne and the safety of my home (a.ka.a....THE DEN OF SIN....obviously.)
3. This afternoon, February 2006. I had just dropped off my car at the Mazda dealership and was told that it would be ready in about 3 hours. Oil changes, it seems, are no longer an "in and out" kind of thing. Knee length denim skirt, full coverage black top, seamed stockings, vintage heels. Yes yes Ill own up to the bed hair, but theres no crime in looking "satisfied."
I called a taxi to take me to the U-District for some time biding at the Barnes and Noble, I have a sudden need to learn Castillian Spanish. A yellow top cab pulls up across the street and backs into a parking space, I assume its mine so I make my way to his side of the road.
He rolls down his window for me to ask, "are you here to pick up someone specific?" (Looking back I see this was the wrong question to ask, especially in an English accent, but it was in all innocence.)
"You," he grumbled and my naivety opened the back door.
"U-Village," I said.
"Ive never had a ride with such a leggy, well endowed woman before," and even his thick Russian accent wasnt enough to excuse the foul imagery that his next words conjured up.
I'll spare you the details. It took me no time at all to demand he pull over and let me out.
"I dont take your money when you could pay me with other things," he yelled out the window as I slammed the door shut and shivered as I walked quickly away.
The answer was a "HELL NO."
Being stranded inbetween the district and the village was humorous to me. I called Orange cab this time, Yellow is no longer my recommendation.
Hookin' it never pays.
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