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It got me to thinking about all the different work I've done over the years, and it brought back something you guys may find entertaining. Or at least you'll feel sorry for me
.About 5 years ago, I was working as a carpenter, framing homes in developments. The work was very physical, cold, hot, wet, and often hazardous, but I liked our crew and the work, and so stayed at it for a couple of years. Then a friend called me, told me she had just graduated from massage school and that I should check it out. I did, went to school at night (which made for some bawdy comments on the job sites!), and 6 months and 600 hours later was state certified as a massage therapist.
After a year of working for several chiropractors and salons, as well as having some private clients, I get a call from this same friend (a woman by the way). "How would you like to make $500 a night, cash?" Hmmm. "Of course I would, but is it legal?" "Yes. Meet me down at -------- in Philly tonight at 7." -------- was a big go-go bar, which (ahem) I'd never (ever - I swear) been to.
Anyway, I meet her there, she introduces me to the assistant manager who says, "If ------ says you're alright, you're alright with me, too." So off we walk into... can you guess where?... the dressing room for the dancers.
"You're kidding, right?" I ask my friend. "No, I'm not. They pay $1 a minute to be massaged, plus tips, and they can't get enough. All cash, of course." Sure enough, there's her massage table off to the side, candles, a CD player, and her lotions. Bare augmentation and hair is flying everywhere, in various stages of dress, and I can't believe what I'm hearing or seeing. "I don't use draping here (the term for keeping the client covered at all times), I just clean the table with alcohol, they jump on and I make 'em happy." She introduced me to a few of the girls, who seemed happy and excited that I'd be working there.
So I dial the phone: "Hi honey. If I had a chance to make a couple thou a week cash, and maybe be home during the day, would that be alright?" A few moments silence followed by, "Doing what?" Hmmm. I just spit it out, and she said "We'll talk when you get home."
Long story short, she finally says ok (
), and the next day I load up my table and gear, and head on down to meet my friend in Philly, ready to (no snickering boys!) work hard at my new job. On the way in, we meet the manager who is back from vacation. "Dude, I hate 'ta do dis to ya, but yer a guy an nats a conflict of interest. Sorry." Yeah, dude, me too.
