Have you ever made small talk with a call girl?
I have. My former housemate of 25 years ago, R. Airhead,* used to call a particular escort service, avail himself of the product, then tell the service provider he had no money.
Airhead, in fairness, had been in a very serious accident and had to relearn to walk. It also left him with the attention span of a gnat. Perhaps that’s why he got away with it. Despite his getting along in the world, having a job and driving a car and even having a girlfriend, he really wasn’t all there.
Maybe it’s because I’m a writer that I can see something interesting in most people. Certainly Airhead provided plenty of fodder.
So I did have a bland conversation with an escort one evening while the guys of the house asked some specific questions regarding services and rates, etc. It was several years before I could work it into a conversation, but one boring afternoon at the newspaper my knowing the rates for services perked things up.
On another occasion I was reading one of Frank Herbert’s Dune series when either his girlfriend or a service provider asked, ”What have you got there, a book?”
And one stellar evening I came home to a lovely aroma that originated in my closet. My nose led me to a suitcase stuffed full of individually packaged bags of pot. When I confronted Airhead about it he bragged that it was about $10,000 worth and all I had to do was tell the cops it wasn’t mine.
I’m glad I’m able to look though a writer’s eyes and see all this as interesting bits of life to be used later. Sure, he was irritating as all get out. But between drugs in the closet and the knocks on the door that might be someone coming to clear up a debt, Airhead made life exciting.
*Airhead was our nickname for him.
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