Wow, I didn’t know that. I knew reading about prostitutes would be educational!
You should have sold him a bag of oregano.
Yes, although it was a bit confusing and I’m not sure who thought who was a prostitute.
Yes, a few times, many years ago, when I was in my late teens and early twenties.
Many years ago (like thirty or more), a young guy standing at the corner of 53rd Street and Third Avenue in New York, in scruffy jeans and a leather jacket, after dark, would definitely have been assumed to be a hustler. I wasn’t, I just worked in the area, in a totally legit job, and that’s how I dressed.
The same with some streets (back then) in the West Village.
I’m sure you looked lovely. Didn’t mean to offend.
The same thing didn’t happen to me!
That is too weird.
When I lived in Maryland I absolutely had a couple guys drive real slow next to me while I walked down the street, trying to find out if I would get in the car with them. Not sure if they thought I was a hooker, or just trying their luck. Strangely, mostly only happened in MD! I did have one incident in New Orleans, where a guy tried the same thing.
The Ramones even wrote a song about it, “Fifty-Third and Third”.
Yes. My med school was a block away from the red light district. The hookers used the dorm bathroom on the first floor. No students stayed there more than a semester. Anyway, I was walking from student parking to my ENT rotation at about 4:30 AM and I passed a couple of guys who asked “How much?” I politely declined, being late for work and all. The other students and I decided that getting up at 4 AM to hire a hooker wasn’t that much worse than getting up at 4AM to be abused by a surgeon. Anyway, I hear that the T now goes directly to the hospital so no more walking through the Combat Zone to get to work.
To me, no. But it did happen to my aunt. My very elegant, aristocratic aunt.
She had been at a black-tie charity event, and was headed to the airport to meet my uncle’s late flight. The airport is in a skeevy part of their town, and she got lost. So she pulled into the parking lot of a motel to turn around - and was promptly stopped by the police. They were running a prostitution sting, and seeing an elegant white woman, in a gown, late at night, in a rent-by-the-hour motel, who pulled out immediately after she presumably spotted them…weeeell, it wasn’t an altogether unreasonable assumption.
My family has derived much enjoyment from this story over the years.
I was undercover in occupied France, WWII, stationed in a small town outside Bordeaux when the Germans mobile infantry rolled through.
Till this day I have no idea why my unit commander had assigned me the undercover identity of Chloe, the common French slut at the local drinking establishment. I was a 32 year old hirsuit man, at the time. I think the commander harboured a dislike of me, but can’t swear to it.
Jerry got quite a bit more than they bargained for that night, I’ll tell you. shudder
Santa always calls me one.
At university, the only place to park was above the campus in a red-light area. One sunny afternoon I was leaning back against the car waiting for my husband to show so we could drive home. Apparently I’d waited too long as a woman around my age marched up to me and told me I had to move it on, as she was working that area. I took it as a compliment. A pro thought I could charge for sex! Who needs college? I explained about the car and my husband. She clearly didn’t believe me, but luckily he showed up five minutes later.
When I was fifteen, I was another one mistaken for a homeless runaway who might be desperate enough, waiting in a London train station known at the time for prostitution. The friend I was meeting was running was over an hour late. An older guy who looked like a business man brought me a cup of tea over, asked if I had anywhere to sleep that night and said he’d be happy to put me up in a hotel if I wanted to be friendly. I politely turned him down several times before he’d leave me alone. This is one of the reasons I’m teaching my daughter she doesn’t always have to mind her manners.
My first apartment in NYC was at 53rd and 3rd. When I was moving in some of the hustlers started trash-talking in front of my Mom so I made them help me carry boxes up 3 flights of stairs. Nice guys, really.
I was mistaken for a hooker a few times. Once I was waiting for a bus in the rain after work and some guy in a limo offered me a ride…kind of puzzled when I found out what he thought because I was working in a machine shop in those days and was wearing not clean overalls and a tee-shirt. Still, I got a few G+T’s in the limo and a ride home. I was also mistaken for a paid hostess by a few guests at the machine shop’s Christmas party. I guess they didn’t equate hot chicks with machine shop employees.
Heck no!!