A couple weeks ago, “What is Love?” started blaring from my purse 10 p.m. It’s my cell ringtone and it doesn’t sing often because the only people who call me are Hubby or Big Guy…and both of them know, I don’t answer the phone after 10 p.m.
I didn’t recognize the number, so I ignored it.
A few minutes later, my purse buzzed like a Star Trek phaser. It was a text from the same number, asking what I charged for a massage. I ignored it.
The next afternoon, on the drive home from work, phaser blasts started going off like the Romulans were attacking. So I whipped into my spot at the school and started digging for my phone. I had to dig deep – it was wedged at the bottom next to shredded receipts, one pulverized granola bar and a bobby pin. My phone doesn’t get much use.
There were 5 texts and 1 voicemail message (luckily it was a day I did remember my password) from men. Creepy men.
“How much do you charge per hour?”
“I am male. 24 years old. I work out”
“What is your address?”
The phone message was even creepier. A deep masculine voice with a European accent greeted me with a “Hey Baby. I am looking for a good, deep massage. What you charge per hour? All my muscles are so tight and I need some TLC”. I’ll spare you the inflections and heavy breathing that came with the verbal content. Needless to say, I burst out laughing.
Hi. I’m Jenn. I work in a cubicle of purgatory…in a church office. Smearing oil on hairy, sweaty men is not in my job description (I’m pretty sure, but maybe I’m checking Tuesday morning!)
Once I had wiped the tears running down my face, I texted my girlfriend to tell her about my next career move. I told her what was happening, and added that from now on, my name was jinger (yes, with a “j”), I would be charging $1,000 an hour and I was Worth. Every. Penny. (when I talked to her later, I used my sexy, sassy voice and I thought she was going to wet her pants, she was laughing so hard)! She suggested I text back a fake address…but I really didn’t want to have any contact with these guys, even electronically.
Someone finally texted that they saw my ad on kijiji.
I looked up the ad…or should I say sleazy ads with my cell number. They featured sexy Asian beauties looking coyly over their shoulders, encouraging guys to “book a massage for their girl”. My mind wandered in a few directions, and none of them G rated. [shudder]
It took awhile to connect with kijiji, but needless to say, the operator was horrified. We were disconnected before she located the ad, but not before I gave her my number. And sure, enough…the calls and texts stopped.
My career had finished before it started…but Hey Baby! It was good for a laugh!