Walk of Shame

I pranced in place while I waited for the elevator at midnight. Heels in one hand and five hundred dollars in ones in the other. My cheap makeup was slightly smeared across my lips. I always hated the walk of shame, but for me, it was nothing more than an occupational hazard.

“Dang it!” I cursed. “When is the elevator going to get here?”

“Try cursing some more.” A man behind me suggested. “I’m sure that’ll make it come faster.”

“Sorry,” I muttered.

The man walked up next to me.

“So, why are you up this late?” I asked.

“Stress-induced insomnia.”

“Oh.”

“And you?”

I smirked and gestured to my assemble. “Take a guess.”

He hesitated in his answer. “You’re a… sexual-type worker?”

“Stripper. I’m a stripper. Just got off from a late night bachelor party. It’s okay to say it. I know who I am.”

“If you’re so self assured, can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“Why do you do it?”

Rolling my eyes, I held up the wad of cash. It’s not like I’ve haven’t heard this question a million times before. “Why else?” I remarked.

“No, I mean, why this? Why not go to college and get a degree? Find a—no offense—respectable job?”

“Academics were never really my thing. Not point in going thousands into debt for something I’m not really passionate about.”

“That’s fair.”

I turned to him. “So what about you?”

“I’m a lawyer.”

“And you actually like a stiff job like that?”

The man shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced around. “Not really. No.”

“Then, why do you do it?”

He blankly looked at me. “I—I don’t quite know.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what.” I offered, picking up a hotel pen from a nearby coffee table. Setting down my heels, I wrote a number on his arm.

“Let me guess, if I’m ever in the mood, I can call you to… ‘make it better’?”

“Yes.” I confirmed. “If you’re ever in the mood for a different job, you’ve got a pretty face that’ll work wonders for you.”

The man stayed silent, not sure if my words were a joke or sincere. Unfortunately, the elevator didn’t give him any time for an answer as it dinged open. “See you later, love.” I called out as the doors closed behind me.

It was maybe a week later he called. Asking for a new life. Funny, he’s the third guy I know who had a catharsis about his life by talking to a stripper. Fourth if you count the one with the prostitute.

“Walk of Shame” by P!nk