The Jizz Biz
While living in NYC, I learned that whatever you do, no matter how deplorable or morally reprehensible, you can always claim immunity by saying "I needed the money". Thus, after not paying my rent for two months, and having completely run out of excuses to give to my slumlord, I was desperate. My roommate (who I can fondly say was a complete whore), gave me some ideas for additional income...none of which I was thrilled over. But..."I needed the money".
Thus began my sordid ride on the express train to smutville! First stop: The Land of Oral Pleasures!
In order to increase my income, I took a third job as a phone sex operator. I was given a completely smutty script, and was told to use that as a guide. My typical phone call could last 15 minutes, and I was known as the "choir boy" (voice of a young innocent guy, who just happened to be a willing sex pig). Thanks to my parents and their wonderful DNA, I had a tenor voice that allowed me to sound my young 18 years. I used to describe situations and events that were nearly impossible, not to mention, I would be doing crossword puzzles as I was talking.
I was given performance bonuses if I could keep a caller on the line for longer than 10 minutes. It was here that I learned about delay tactics. To keep the customer from "finishing" I would bring up the strangest things. Things like, "oh wait...get an ice cube from the fridgerator", or "oh wait...I think I hear my mother calling".
That job paid one month's back rent. So I still needed to pay the additional back rent. This need pushed me back onto the smut express train to the depository. I went to the sperm bank and sold my sperm. This is not as easy task as you think, for several reasons. Gay men were not allowed to donate sperm, so when I shoed up at the bank, I had to "straighten up". Changed into a pair of jeans, took off the belt and put a hat on backwards.
When I was filling out my application, I had to tell about my parents. In this case, I said my mother was a doctor and that my father was an engineer. They believed it (not very smart people at the bank). I was given a cup and led down a hall to a room. The room had a chair with wheels (don't ask me why) and a television with a video. That was probably the worst experience, as I had performance anxiety. Lucky I was 18...which meant I didn't take that long....shorter than one of my phone sex calls....MUCH SHORTER!
3 minutes of work...$125 dollars. I don't even remember how much I donated, but I worked until my fingers bled!
Now it makes me wonder what job I'll take next? How about all of you? What crappy jobs have you taken?
Tonight...I meet Steve Martin! You all jealous?
