That’s what news guys discuss in the break room over caffeine and honey buns.
What, at first blush, may sound like a crass joke could be a serious problem.
Hookers were arguably the original working girls. And workers here in the good ole U.S. of A have come to expect a few things when it comes to their employer: Health, Dental, and the paid vacation sitting near the top of the list. So I find it hard to believe that any pimp worth his backhand would not offer his stable at least a little time for self-enrichment. And if he didn’t, I’m sure Local 69 of the International Floozie Sisterhood would hire some muscle to convince him otherwise.
So, Jezebel, you’ve sold your wares for six months. Now, your loving flesh-peddler has given you five days to let your hair grow . . . or whatever a pimp tells his harlots when he gives them a few days off. Where would you go?
It would have to be somewhere cheap. The going rate for, ahem, “personal favors” in Vegas around $50. (Don’t ask me how I know, and if my wife dumps my browser history, I swear it was just research.) You’re not rich by any stretch. And with all those wanton millionaires dragging you to museums, operas, and polo matches, (Yes, all I know about hookers I learned from Pretty Woman.) you’d probably be ready for something a little less sophisticated.
So you take a bus to Palookaville, USA, and check into a hotel. Now what?
Maybe you could go to the bar for a drink. No, wait that’s work, too. Dinner at a nice restaurant? Work. Lay out by the pool? Really? Like skimpy clothes aren’t your uniform.
You’re a street-walker, so a walk in the park is out. The zoo? Probably not. All those animals mating is too much like research.
Go fishing? Really? You had to bring up fish?
About the only thing left for a hooker to do on vacation that isn’t work, is sleep. And why not? After all those late hours, you deserve a nap.