What's the Craziest Thing That’s Happened to You at Work?

For whatever reason (hint: it’s capitalism), “What do you do for a living?” is one of the first questions that comes up when meeting someone at a social gathering or fumbling through talking points on a first date. It’s considered polite to inquire what someone’s job is because it’s understood that it is part of their identity, for better or for worse. As a sex worker, I dread this question more often than not. Telling your boyfriend’s entire extended family that you make a living fucking and sucking, winding and grinding, isn’t bound to lead to a chill, judgement free conversation. In many cases, I don’t disclose what I do to avoid any awkwardness, but other times I attempt to share what I do with pride. Being proud doesn’t always stop other people from being annoying, which is usually what they are after hearing that I’m a *gasp* sex worker.

Being proud doesn’t always stop other people from being annoying...

To their credit, most people respond positively at first, saying something along the lines of, “Oh my god! That’s sooooo cool!” Their eyes light up, filled with curiosity, and then whatever part of their brain that tells them not to ask random people intrusive questions shuts off. They’re so excited to finally be sitting in front of an actual sex worker – something that is, unbeknownst to them, most likely a daily occurrence – because now they can finally hear firsthand about how crazy it is to be in the oldest profession. People often want to hear the wildest, most fucked up thing that’s ever happened to me on the clock. They want the insider info, the more traumatic the scoop the better. Civilians are obsessed with sex workers. They are in awe of us, and to be honest, I think they are jealous that we are privy to how men behave while they’re sneaking away from the civilian women in their lives. They want to be a part of it, but without having to actually do the job and endure the stigma that comes with it. Hearing from a sex worker firsthand while still being able to feel like an ally by reassuring us that we’re “so brave” is ideal for them.

Society has tried to deter people from partaking in the oldest profession by convincing them that it’s immoral, dirty, and tragic to sell their bodies. Moral panic warns people that sex is too sacred to be sold, and that doing so somehow decreases your value. The same society that pushes capitalism and puts a price tag on every aspect of life tells us that selling sex is different for some reason. Sex workers see through that bullshit and know the reason is because men don’t want to have to pay for access to our time, bodies, and sexuality because they think they should get it for free. But a hooker is smart and knows that men will pay, because at the end of the day (or night), it’s a service they so desperately desire.

The same society that pushes capitalism and puts a price tag on every aspect of life tells us that selling sex is different for some reason.

Deep down, civilian women see this to some extent as well, but aren’t willing to find out for themselves. They want to hear it from us, the women and other genders, working behind the scenes. They realize that sex workers get to see men in a different context, where the walls are broken down and there’s no longer this facade that sex and desire can’t be bought. While sex workers provide a fantasy, we simultaneously unveil the performative nature of domesticity. Men feel comfortable opening up to us and telling us their secrets, because when they’re with us, they are no longer playing the role of patriarchal man in traditional society. Their walls come down and they are able to be themselves, or at least another version of themselves, vulnerability and all.  Because of this, civilians want to hear about what sex workers see behind closed doors. They secretly hope that what we see is bad and gross and fucked up, because that will reassure them that they are not missing out.

The reality is that, yes, I have been in dangerous situations while working. I have experienced sexual violence at work. This has also happened to me at other jobs before I got into sex work. As we all know, many workers experience sexual violence and harassment, but you don’t usually ask someone who works in finance to tell you explicit details about it when meeting them at a barbeque. People feel too comfortable asking sex workers to lay their trauma out for them, as if the fact that we have decided to put our bodies on display while on the clock means we can’t have any issue putting anything out there at any time. But this is far from the truth. Sex workers are all about setting and respecting boundaries, because it’s part of our work. We deserve to have our boundaries respected when we’re off the clock too, so please keep this in mind when asking us questions. If anything, you can lead with, “I have a question, and feel free to pass on answering if you feel uncomfortable or just don’t want to!” It’s much appreciated.

People feel too comfortable asking sex workers to lay their trauma out for them.

To be honest, when thinking about the most ~fucked up~ thing that’s ever happened to me at work the first thing that comes mind is the time I had to give a lapdance to Tracy Chapman’s Fast Car. It was in the beginning of my stripper career when I was working lap dance parties and this particular one had us give dances in the upstairs section of a strip club where the sound system was trash and there were lamps dangling from the ceiling that hung at the perfect height for banging your head against. I sat my customer down, immediately hit my head of the ceiling lamp, and then began shaking ass to “See, my old man's got a problem/ He lives with the bottle, that's the way it is/ He says his body's too old for working/ His body's too young to look like his,” softly crackling from the speakers. Gyrating to lyrics about childhood trauma for five minutes hurt me more than the words or actions of any misogynistic customer could.

In the grand scheme of things, the worst and craziest part of being a sex worker is criminalization, and the lack of labor and human rights sex workers endure. So much of my time is spent trying and often failing to get clients to screen (send me their ID) before meeting me because the threat of criminalization makes them nervous to reveal that information to me. Truthfully, much of my time is spent waiting around for men, something civilian women actually know a lot about themselves. My work can be mundane and tedious, like most jobs. A lot of shifts are filled with dead hours, repetitive conversations, and doom scrolling out of boredom. These examples probably aren't what the drunk woman at the bachelorette party who “could never do that” wants to hear about, but it’s what they’re going to get if they make the mistake of talking to me.

Are you a sex worker with a story, opinion, news, or tips to share? We'd love to hear from you!

We started the tryst.link sex worker blog to help amplify those who aren't handed the mic and bring attention to the issues ya'll care about the most. Got a tale to tell? 👇☂️✨