Still Not a Hooker in Troy, NY

So, good news! CMaxby has still got it! And how do I know that I still have it? Well… on the way home from my run (not sure if you remember, but I’m in the process of learning how to run. It still sucks but I bought an App for it and I’ll be damned if I’m going to waste $1.99.) I was followed down Congress into Franklin Alley and asked if I was working.

Artist’s rendering of what I look like while out for a jog in Troy. No WONDER he thought I was a ho

It took me 5 seconds to process what he meant. The gentleman was well dressed (aka not in the latest crackhead fashion of dirty jeans and dried vomit) and I was obviously in running sneakers, yoga pants, and one of those elastic headbands that sporty people wear. Obviously he wasn’t asking me if I was a prostitute. 

 ”Huh? What did you say? I’m coming back from running.”

“Yeah, but are you… you know, working.”

You mean am I a prostitute?”

<head nod

My response was to string together a line of curses that would have made Ralphie’s father proud. I screeched at this guy and came up with compound words that the Germans wish they invented. To his credit, he didn’t press the matter any further as his question was answered and I was obviously too crazy to be a hooker, and he shuffled off towards 4th St. *** 

Now I know there is sex selling going on in Troy. However, I’ve been informed that the prime hours for prostitute purchasing are actually in the AM, an hour before the state workers have to clock in, and not, in fact at dusk on a Monday.  

Ha! This guy couldn’t have been any more clueless! Whatever. At least I can join in with all the people at Baccus when they tell their hilarious prostitute stories. And now you guys know that I look like such a train wreck after jogging that people think I’m the type to hand out HJs in alleys for money. 

*** I know I should have called the cops, especially since he followed me, but in my blind rage it didn’t even cross my mind. Honestly, I was too busy searching for loose bricks to throw at him to even realize I had my phone in my hand.

Comments

  1. PizzzaGod says:

    You must be a cop!

  2. cmaxby says:
  3. Kristi says:

    What happened to you (obviously) wasn’t cool, but the way you told the story certainly was. Thank you for the morning laugh and good to know you are safe.

    • cmaxby says:

      Thanks, Kristi. The only way to deal with this kind of crap is to laugh… or have access to a large pile of bricks at all times.

  4. STR says:

    I’ve found that when a woman is alone, outside (not in some sort of retail establishment) kind of just being a person and doing person type things like walking or just sitting on a bench, men might suspect she is a prostitute. I don’t know why being outside, alone, sans man or baby or shopping bags inidicates that a woman sells sex for money but your story supports similar experiences I’ve heard from others and that I’ve had myself. Maybe just being a woman, alone and outside makes a guy comfortable enough to approach and ask a total stranger to sell him sex?

    • cmaxby says:

      Hmmm… Now the tiny part of me that remembers all of those stupid Psychology studies that I had to be a part of to pass Psych 101 wants to do my own experiment involving jogging with baby dolls taped to my sweatshirt. Of course, as a control I’d occasionally go out sans baby doll sweatshirt… For giggles, I’ll throw my Crazy Cat Lady sweatshirt into the mix to see how that goes over.

      This is the best idea ever and I’m totally giving you credit in the research paper/blaming you when I get cut up into bite sized cubes.

  5. Vlad says:

    hahahah this shit is classic!

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