Back in the Saddle Again

   Phone rings. I check it, and it's Time. Time being part of the name of the faux company I work for, time being Time's Up. 

   "Hey, Hun, I have a general for you."

   "Ok, go ahead." Aaand I'm back to work. 

Straighten hair, paint face on, steam press clothes that have been lying on the floor for a week, stock purse, double check the KY. Good to go. 

   It was weird how nervous I was. The only other call I had this month was a regular, so I feel like a newb again. He wanted me there right away, and the hotel was close. What was supposed to be an hour call, turned out to be just half an hour which is annoying because it pays squat for the same service. But, sista, this girl is broke! So I'll take what I can get. He was nice. The kind of average guy that I never talk about, cause there's really nothing to say. Can you imagine being that guy? Just that boring. I'm sure some of my readers are that guy. I'm sorry. But you probably don't know if you are though. This guy thought he was a stud. 
   "Can many guys last that long?" He asks me. 
   I almost said, "What? 20 minutes?" The words almost came out of my mouth. "As much as a cliché as it sounds it's true that everyone is different." And that's the answer I went with. I will not talk to clients about other clients. Ever. 

   Then I mis-prioritised. I'm doing a 30 day yoga challenge. Meaning yoga, every day, for thirty days. It's intense. I'm on day 9. I usually go to the 4pm classes, cause that's when Alex can go, and that's one of the least likely times to get a call. I'm on my way there and I've got my grubby work out clothes on, my hair is french braided into a ball at the base of my neck, I've washed off my make up, and I get a call. I turn it down. This was a bad move on my part. I should have turned around, driven the four blocks back home and prepared for the call. Instead I passed up on big, and much needed cash, and went to yoga. I could have gone at different time. I wasn't thinking. Bad Girl. 

   My last call was to a neighborhood known for it's yuppies. Well, I've come to know it for it's yuppies. I thought that this would be a good call. When he comes to get me in the lobby, I'm disheartened to see it's a Sweat Pants Dude. Ugh, I hate SPD's. And this guy's sweat pants are extra special. They end about six inches above the ground. Uh-huh. No part of me understands this. This man is not attractive. Part of me feels like bailing, but I'm just not that much of a bitch. My goal is just to get it over with as fast as possible. I move things along quickly, and I'm all lined up and ready, and he says, "Are we going to do this?" Uhhh... "Well, we don't have to if you don't want to." I say, pausing things. "What would you like to do?" "I'm not ready," he tells me. Mmmm, he seemed ready. "Can we just do this?" 'This' would be him lying on his back and me straddling him. "Did you want to talk?" "Ok." So we talked. For an hour. I would ask him a question, and he would give me a one word answer, and I would try to draw more questions from that or, continue on. For an hour. What did I learn from this? Compassion.