Being broke and in college sucked. No car, little free time, massive expenses.
I once took a job with a environmental lobbying firm looking for students to get involved. I was super excited.
I showed up in my Birkenstocks with my hemp bag, looking all politically turmoiled, and even considered putting a hoop in my nose. But, after a 10 minute tour of the building, next thing I knew, I was riding in a van, and dumped in a affluent subdivision outside Columbus, Ohio with a clip board and a laminated informational sheet on the dumping of toxin filled barrels in the ocean near WTFDonde, Mexico.
I went up to one house, rang the door bell, an old lady in a maid outfit answered the door, and instead of explaining the heinous pollution and asking for her signature, I pretended I was kidnapped by my sorority sisters as a prank and asked to use their phone.
Andy arrived to find me in the kitchen eating tamales and playing Uno with the maid. I never warned her about the toxic barrels of waste. I mean, Ohio is, like, super far away from Mexico, so all the pollutants would be eaten up by cuddly dolphins by the time it reached us, anyways.
In a university of over 50,000, job pickings were slim.
The only consistent ad running in the college paper was for a phone sex operator. I mean, you could work from your dorm, making your own schedule, getting paid tons of money.
It’s basically exactly what Rosie the Riveter had in mind.
It was tempting. Hundreds of dollars a week was a lot to a poor college student with no food or beer money until she sold her books at the end of the quarter for 1/80th of what she paid for them.
So, I called the company, and spoke with the lady in charge of hiring. She was funny and engaging and told me I sounded super pretty over the phone. We talked about how awesome the show Alias was and our favorite places to eat on campus, and it was going really well. I had actually completely forgotten I was interviewing for a job as a phone sex girl until out of the blue, after I told the funniest story about throwing up outside the Pita Pit dressed like Glenda the Good Witch, she asked me to pretend she was a guy and describe my body using my sexiest voice.
So I was all, um, I’m super pale with chin length blonde kinky hair and brown eyes. I wearing black underwear, I mean, panties, and no bra because I have super big boobies.
It was the worst, most humiliating sentence to ever come out of my mouth. And it wasn’t even true, because not wearing a bra makes my back hurt and my boobs saggy.
Is that your sexiest voice?
Yes, I mean, I do sound way sexier when I have a sinus infection.
Can you think of another word for boobies?
What about male genitalia?
It was the most confusing game of word association ever, and I never heard from her again.
Because, you see, I have an issue using the scientific words for body parts. I always have. Health class was equal parts horrifying and shockingly erotic for me.
My parents weren’t prudes or anything, it’s just that sex parts never really came up in our every day vernacular.
I mean, once I was five and I stopped taking baths with my brother, I never even saw a real life penis again until I was in sixth grade, and by then, I still had no idea people didn’t call them tallywackers.
Recently, while changing Gigi’s diaper, Wyatt asked me why she had two butts.
Ok great, am I even legally allowed to use the word vagina around a four year old?
It’s not a butt, sweetie. Gigi is a girl, so she doesn’t have a pee pee like you, girls have different parts than boys.
So hers hasn’t grown in yet because she’s a baby?
Nope, there is nothing to grow in, girls don’t get pee pees.
I want to educate him about Chaz Bono here, but I don’t. I mean, he barely knows who Cher is.
Haha, it’s like she has two butts.
No, girls pee out of…their cookies.
I don’t even know that word, mom.
I know, you should ask your dad about them, he’s still totally figuring them out.
By the time he’s in college, phone sex operators will all be robots, anyways.