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The Cody Blog: Of Cranberry Juice and Happy Endings

Friday, May 27, 2005

Of Cranberry Juice and Happy Endings

And speaking of jokingly lamenting about illegal activities -- I've almost never even been propositioned by a hooker. In fact, when I was at UNM in Albuquerque in the mid 1990s, I really was never sure if those women in their horrid outfits on Central were prostitutes or not.

I think the first time one of my friends ever admitted interacting with a hooker was on a trip to play Hawaii with the UNM Lobo basketball team. One of our best players -- who was a wild partying kinda guy -- came back from a late night out telling us about how he'd been talking to the "most beautiful hooker" he'd ever seen. He said midway through the conversation "she" told him she was a man (yeah, like the great Kinks song), but he didn't believe her. So, he told us, he reached in her pants and did indeed find...well, you know. Have to wonder how much of that story is true vs. oh-what-was-that-Irish- movie-where-the-guy-finds- out-too-late-that- that-woman-is-a-man thing?

Anyway, until a couple years ago, I'd never once been propositioned, at least that I knew of. Then one night after drinks after watching my friend, Neil, in a show on Broadway, I'd decided to walk home to sober up a little bit. As I walked through mid-town at like 1am on a Thursday night, a car pulls up next to sidewalk and the window rolls down. Like a good citizen should, I step over to the car figuring somebody's needing directions or something. Nope, some nasty ass lady asks me if I "want to party". Uh, no thanks.

Believe it or not, by the time I got back to my apartment in the 60s on the east side, I'd been propositioned two more times! From zero to three in one night!

The only other time I've been propositioned that I know of was one early evening also in midtown Manhattan. My friend and I were walking out of a hotel, and some pretty, young woman asks us if we're "looking for a good time". We weren't but I was curious how much it'd cost, so I asked. I don't remember her answer.

A friend of mine who does frequent hookers when he's traveling told me one night when we were at a hotel bar in Manhattan (he travels to Manhattan, which is one of the places he frequents them) told me that the best way to tell if a woman's a hooker is if she orders a cranberry juice, no alcohol in it. Wonder if that's true. Never seen a woman order a cranberry juice no alcohol that I can recall anyway.

Finally, I do love getting massages (needing one right now, actually, as my neck is killing me this morning), and I've been to many different places in NYC and have had massages in New Orleans, Puerto Rico and other places. Never once, not one single time, has anyone ever offered me the "happy ending". Like my lament about the homeless drug dealer below -- it's not that I'd accept it anyway. But couldn't they at least offer it?!

Then again, maybe, like the cranberry juice, they are offering it, and I just never picked up on whatever the underground signal is.


Blogger BelowTheCrowd said...

I suppose I'm responsible for this discussion, so let me pass on a couple of other andecdotes.

One of the advantages of going to biz school in LA is the event known as the "Vegas Road Trip." An even greater advantage is the "Vegas Field Study" which is basically an excuse for hanging out in vegas for days at a time and getting academic credit.

Anyway, my field study involved a then-new hotel in Vegas. Those people always loved us MBA types because we worked hard and put together studies that would have otherwise cost them thousands of bucks from consultants. All they had to do was pay for room and board (which they had in abundance) and transportation courtesy of Southwest Airlines or whoever else was cheapest.

So, anyway we're working this survey one evening. I'm hanging out in the lobby with my little name-tag on, trying to get customers to answer a quick survey about something or other in the place. OK, I'm still a guy, and I see a smoking hot woman hanging out alone at the edge of the lobby so I approach her and ask her if she was willing to speak with me for a few minutes.

My recollection is a bit fuzzy, but I recall the conversation going along these lines:

Young Dumb Naive Me: Excuse me, could you help me out for a few minutes?
Smoking Hot Chick: Am I doing anything wrong?
YDNM: No, I'd just like to ask you a few questions.
SHC: Well, I'm waiting for somebody.
YDNM: This will only take a few minutes.
SHC: I'm really not sure I can help you, I'm just here for a little while.
YDNM: Well, I'm sure you can help me out if you can give me just a few minutes.
SHC: Look, are you asking me to leave?
YDNM: Why would anybody ask you to leave, you're just standing here waiting for somebody and...

It hit me as I was talking.

SHC: ...Working?

I backtracked. Explained again that I'm just a biz student working a survey, NOT some kind of hotel security guy who wanted to kick her out.

SHC: So I guess you're kind of on a student budget, right?
YDNM: Well, I've worked for a long time, so I'm OK, but have to be careful while I'm in school.
SHC: Too bad, I've been waiting for my date for almost half an hour and I could use a backup plan.
YDNM: Sorry, I can afford a luxury or two, but I'm sure you're out of my price range. But seriously, I am still doing a survey. What do you think of the place?
SHC: This hotel sucks. It's only been open for a month and this is the third time I've been stood up!

After many years of business travel I've almost gotten used to the "hotel bar hooker approach." Usually can tell them I'm not interested before they even say hello. Had an encounter in Toronto a couple of years ago, sitting in the bar at the Sheraton downtown, which is kind of a sports/stock market pub place.

It's a weekday evening, snowy night and long enough after market close that the downtown workers are gone and now it's full of hotel guests. Almost all female. And hot.

So I sit down at the bar to see what develops.

Woman sits down next to me and I instantaneously get the "I'm going to be propositioned" feeling.

It happens quick, and I brush her off. Usually she'll just move on, but this time she doesn't. Eventually she says something like "You mind if I just sit here, things are really slow."

I tell her sure, but that again, I'm not really interested and she'd do better elsewhere.

Too bad she says. There's some kind of fashion designer conference going on and I'm apparently the only straight guy in the place.

Eventually and inevitably she asks again. Am I interested?

I just looked at her and asked: "I'm stuck in a hotel in the middle of a snowstorm with 2000 fashion designers and you want me to pay?"

She said, yeah, it was a pretty stupid idea. Finished her drink (didn't notice if it was cranberry juice) and left. I almost felt sorry for her.

It snowed for the three nights I was there and the bar was hopping with fashion designers each night. It turned into a very fun time.


5/27/2005 11:14:00 AM  
Anonymous joeblue3 said...

Cody says in the above post in regards to his friend - "Frequents hookers", "he frequents them"

I don't know that tagging a hooker has ever been as eloquently put as our Los Lobos leader did in this post.

The word frequent has taken on a whole new meaning now.

"I don't give a frequent what you say."
"I bought her a drink and the next think I know we were frequenting like rabbits."

5/27/2005 01:59:00 PM  
Blogger BelowTheCrowd said...

And of course there's The Supreme F: FREQUENT YOU!

And on a side note, it now appears that I've told everybody who reads this everything I know about hookers and porn stars. Not sure why...


5/27/2005 05:21:00 PM  
Blogger The Unknown Broker said...

Use of "frequent" by BTC and Joe. Funny.

"I went to an alehouse I used to frequent...And I told the landlady my money was spent...I asked her for credit she answered me nay...Such favor as yours I can have any day" --- Irish folk song "The Wild Rover"

Cody's story of the guy checking out the goods reminds me of the scene from the first "Crocodile Dundee" movie where the transvestite is coming on to him in a bar and he doesn't believe that she is a he. Grabs her right in the junk and says something like "She's not a Sheila. She's a guy!"

Now I've got that Lou Reed song stuck in my head. "Plucked her eyebrows on the way...shaved her legs...then he was a she ...she said hey babe...take a walk on the wild side."

5/31/2005 01:58:00 PM  
Anonymous Dean said...

I'm sure this is not the case but thought I'd put it out there anyway. Perhaps, Cody, the people "propositioning" you were in actuality looking to, err...frequent YOU! Ahh, a TRUE professional in the Renaissance Man sort of way! Peace.

6/01/2005 03:35:00 PM  

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