hookers

I used to work as hotel security.

Two hookers came into the lobby one night and approached the front desk.  They asked David, the night clerk, a question.  He answered and, as they went on their way, I approached him.

“Okay David,” I asked. “What room did they want?”

“Room?” asked David, the naivety glowing on his face in a warm, soft, innocent aura of charm and sweetness.  “What room?  They just asked what time the restaurant opens for breakfast.”

Oh, so they were actually GUESTS!  But why were they dressed like that?  In short, short skirts with high-heel boots and fishnets?  With overdone make-up and a hint of glitter in their hair and their necks and wrists dripping silver bracelets and jewelry?  They looked a whole lot like hookers, and they smelled like them too.  They passed me and smiled and smelled of dirty sex mixed with sweat and sweet perfume.

Okay so they weren’t actually hookers.  Oh, but WAIT.. maybe it was a ploy!  When they saw me standing in the lobby, they decided to throw me for a loop because they’re really SMART hookers, so they asked David what time the restaurant opens in the morning to make it seem like they’re guests, when actually they were on their way up to a client’s room. If I saw them leave an hour later, that would cinch it and I’d know for sure!

So I camped out in the lobby just after they stepped onto the elevator, and….they never came back down.

I loved capping my overnight shifts at the hotel with a nice ice-blended mocha at the local Coffee Bean every weekend morning.  I’d sit on the patio because the sun shines while pretty girls walk by and nice people talk to me.

I was there the next morning, and two of those pretty girls I mentioned walked right into the store.  They were the hookers from the night before and, although they weren’t so tacky as to wear the same thing they did then, they WERE so tacky as to wear similar outfits as they took their drinks to an adjacent table a few feet away.

“Hi ladies, you’re staying at the Hilton?”

I knew they’d think that’s none of my business, so I followed it right up with a disclaimer.

“I work there as the night manager and I saw you in the lobby last night.”

Hooker #1 brightened up and said she remembered seeing me, and we talked about the hotel.  Hooker #2 asked me about the “resort fee” and why they had to pay it and what it was about.  I get that a lot.  But she had her receipt with her, which she showed to me, further blowing apart the theory that these two are hookers and solidifying the theory that they’re just two terribly attractive, yet tacky and tasteless tarts.

I haven’t mentioned yet that they had accents, but I’ll mention it now.  They had accents.

They both looked middle eastern and their accents were so NOT French or Spanish or anything but middle eastern, so I asked where they were from and they told me they were sisters who’d recently immigrated from Iran.

So not only were they NOT hookers, but they’re were not IRANIAN hookers!

They were charming and nice, and still smelled of sweet dirty sex, even though I’d imagine they’d showered before coming down.

They eased up when I told them about my 18th anniversary coming up the next day, so that way they didn’t see me as they probably see every other guy – I wasn’t a threat to them, or a possibility, whatever their perspective might be – but it helped them to relax and I relaxed in turn and we all just talked and I tried not to stare at their boobs too much.

With their questions answered and their minds entertained, they gave me a couple of pretty little hooker smiles as I departed, and I rode my bike all the way home with Iranian non-hookers on the brain.

It was all so distracting I almost ran over a hooker.

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