Warning: Cranky Mistress
Between various snafus with parking meters, dry cleaners and the gas company, I had a rather annoying day yesterday. My two very sweet clients were the high points, I assure you. Oh, and getting my hair done, although I had to be there at nine o’clock in the bloody morning, because my boy was so booked it was the only time I could get with him.
(And spare me any condescending remarks about how you get up at six am every day. I don’t, okay. I do not have kids. I’m a sex worker and a writer. One of the reasons I passed on the joys of parenting and steady paychecks was so I could go to bed at 3am and get up at 11am. Thus, I dislike having to alter my circadian rhythm to match the morning people.)
But after I left the salon, things went swiftly downhill, in ways too banal to detail. Suffice it to say that by late afternoon, I was in no mood to suffer fools gladly.
Enter fool, stage left.
Caller: I need to feel…special. I don’t feel special.
I pause and look around me. It seems to be the same day and same time it was before I answered the phone. I am thus reassured that I have not, in fact, fallen into some kind of time warp wherein I’ve conducted an entire relationship – an unsatisfying relationship, apparently – with the whiney-voiced person on the other end of the phone.
Which leads to me to ask why the hell this yabbo is calling me up to initiate Breakup Conversation #46 with me? And he’s starting in the middle, too. You have to lead up to this line with something like, “I need to talk to you about our relationship…” But these two statements make absolutely no sense to me.
That’s not true, though. I know why he’s saying them. I know exactly what kind of conversation he’s trying to lead me into, and I’m not interested in having it. So I say nothing, hoping he’ll revert to a more appropriate conversational style, and I can get him off the phone.
He doesn’t. Okay, we’re gonna have to play this one through.
Me: Who is this?
Caller: Bob, Mistress.
Me: Bob, have we ever met?
Caller: No, Mistress.
I pause lengthily again. But Bob’s a stubborn fellow and he doesn’t crack.
Me: How’d you get this number, Bob?
He pauses, trying to think of a way of answering that will keep us out of the real world and in Bob’s Non-Sequiter World. Bob has figured out that the longer he can keep a professional girl confused and off-balance conversationally, the longer she’ll stay on the phone with him, trying to sort him out, because he might be money. This is a very common game. Unfortunately for Bob, I don’t care if he’s Bill Gates. I don’t deal with game-players.
Caller: I want to feel…special. My other Mistress…She didn’t make me feel special.
I’m supposed to say, “What would make you feel special?”
Me: How did you get this number, Bob?
Caller: Um… a website.
Me: Okay, so you’re calling about my professional dominance services….
I give him the standard rate/hours/appointments spiel, including the “I’m not really taking very many new clients these days” part. (That happens to be quite true. However, if I think I’d like you, then exceptions will be made.)
Me: If you like, you can leave me your number and I’ll call you if my schedule opens up.
I’m pulling this completely out of thin air, as I don’t ever do that. But it seems like a non-confrontational way of saying don’t call me, I’ll call you.
Caller: Can we… talk?
Me: If you want, Bob, you can leave me your number and I’ll call you if I get room in my schedule. Or if hell freezes over.
Caller: Could I be your slave? Your special slave?
I hang up, and program him into my phone: NOANSWER17
He calls back about three times in the next twenty minutes. I don’t answer. He didn’t leave a number for me then, either. Which is okay, because I've already got it.