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i've picked up a prostitute!
Apr 5th, 2010 by micah the admin

I was working the late shift at a restaurant in Longmont, Colorado for a time.  One night, as I drove home from work, I observed a young woman standing by the road with her thumb up.  I make it a habit to pick up hitch hikers when I get the chance because I have been helped with a ride plenty of times myself.  Besides, it was near midnight and Longmont didn’t seem like a safe place for a young lady to be hitching at this time of night.  Safer with me than some creeper I thought.  Upon pulling over, the girl jumped into my truck, plopping down on the bench next to me.  As I pulled away she promptly asked me…….”Do you party?”  This wasn’t the usual “how far ya going?” I was used to, but, being a country boy from the sticks, I have seen my share of parties, so I replied,”… sometimes.”  I confess, I was quite naive at the time so I was a little surprised by what she said next.  “How much money do you have?”  My mind raced while I tried to decide if I was to be robbed or invited to a rave.  “Not much” I answered.  “I can work with anything you got”  She quipped.  Panic gripped me.  My God, I thought, I’ve picked up a prostitute!  I had to escape.  “I have a girlfriend” I lied.  She gave me a disgusted look.  “Sorry” (awkward silence)  “So, where am I taking you?”  “Here’s fine,” she said, so I pulled over and out she jumped.  I still get a kick out of seeing peoples faces when I tell them I picked up a prostitute once.  At least it was good for that.

Mark – NH

adventures in brazil, part three
Feb 17th, 2010 by micah the admin

There was a time that I was invited to speak in a Brazilian city that I had never visited before. I was at a point in my language learning when I could do OK in a conversation but needed a translator for public speaking. So, after one extended meeting, we went out for all-you-can-eat pizza. It was nearly midnight. I was tired from the meeting. If you have ever are learned a new language, you will know that to try to communicate in it when you’re tired can be a recipe for disaster. This was no different. So, the waiters were serving different kinds of pizza. One was sliced chicken with a certain cheese topping that I liked at the time. However, it was one of those Portuguese words (“catupiry”) that I believe almost any foreigner would have a hard time pronouncing correctly. Being tired, there was no way I would be able to say it correctly if couldn’t say it when totally alert. The word that came to my mind was mixture of that cheese and the word for computer.
When I spoke out my desire for THAT pizza, my translator, a fair, blond-haired lady, who was sitting right next to me, dropped her mouth so fast and turned the deepest shade of red that I can ever remember in my experience, and started saying, “I can’t believe you just said that!” She started alternating between shock, laughter, and sheer embarrassment. “Say what?” I had no clue. Finally, after a few minutes of the internal terror of, “What did I just say?!”, someone translated my gaffe.
Imagine this: I am one of featured speakers in a conference, and I just used one of the worst swear words in Portuguese. It is a punchy word that sums up all of the gross things that prostitutes do in their sexual acts. I had just spoken out loud that I wanted all that on a pizza … with chicken.

Joseph – DC

the proposition
Jan 16th, 2010 by beth the other admin

In 2003 I went to Houston with some friends. We were in an area of the city with a lot of homeless people. We went to use a public restroom and had to wait in line. My friends all went before me, and eventually I was left alone in the yellow, dirty bathroom with complete strangers. And by strangers, I mean they were strange. I fell into conversation with this one particularly interesting old woman. It took me a while to figure out she must have been homeless — I think the multiple empty plastic grocery bags were the give away. Anyway, she asked me how long I had been in Houston. So I truthfully told her about two hours.

I must have had that young, vulnerable run away look about me, because her response was: “Oh! Well, I know a guy who takes in girls like you. And I know he’s taken in white girls before — well, she was hispanic. But he’ll give you a place to stay and he’ll take care of you…” My innocent 17-year old mind finally comprehended her proposition. I sweetly assured her that I was okay and wouldn’t need her help making my way in the world. That was my first and only “job” offer (in Houston, anyway).

 

Beth the Other Admin

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