Last month, I was let go from my part-time grant writing job due to budgetary constraints, and at least half of my freelance work due to corporate nonsense. Between the remaining freelance work, teaching tennis, and selling a few personal belongings, I was able to squeeze by.
It should be noted that I do have savings from holding down a big-boy job last year, but my jewish upbringing has caused me to be needlessly frugal and penny-pinching. You don't touch savings unless you absolutely have to. Not having a steady income has led to admittedly neurotic behavior over the last several weeks. Examples include making weekly budget charts several times a week, subsisting off pasta and cereal for days at a time, and feeling the need to prostitute myself (sans sex) off a dating website.
What's Your Price? This is the question that I was left to ponder after stumbling upon a dating website of the same name. The concept is pretty self-explanatory. You register as an "attractive" or a "generous." If you're a generous, you contact the attractives and throw out monetary offers for dates. The numbers vary, but the average on the site is about $100.
The site takes great pains to make it clear they are not an escort service, in the same way escort sites go to great lengths to make it clear they are not encouraging prostitution. They are, but use legal loopholes to cover themselves. You're paying for the person's "time," and what two individuals choose to do with that time has nothing to do with the site.
At this stage, the idea of being paid to go out on a date seemed pretty ideal though. Working almost every night, combined with a lack of interest, caused my love life (and life in general) to be placed on the backburner. Getting to leave the apartment and make money? Sweet.
I placed an ad on the site and went to bed. Within 12 hours, someone responded with a $125 offer for a date.
"Rob" was in his late 40s, with a massive gut that would shield me from seeing his penis if things got weird. We arranged to meet on a Saturday night.
"I'm taking you to a phat dinner at Morton's Steakhouse," Rob texted me. This was absurd for two reason. Firstly, Rob is white and a hedge fund manager. He was trying to woo me by using colloquial slang that was 15 years off, and race-inappropriate. Secondly, Morton's is a five-star restaurant. The entrees average more than $50, and the wines require a mortgage to be taken out. It was absurd to take a first date off the internet there.
We met at the restaurant bar and surprisingly, Rob seemed normal and the conversation went smoothly. I wouldn't be there without a monetary arrangement, but no longer felt that being raped or murdered was a possibility.
We were escorted by a waiter to the top floor of the steakhouse, where a bottle of wine was already chilling in a bucket of ice.
"I have a wine locker here," said Rob. "They just put it on my credit line for this restaurant."
"I have to go to the bathroom," I mumbled, racing down the stairs and bursting into laughter. This was the first of three such trips.
Because Rob ate here several nights a week and the staff knew him by name, there was a level of ass-kissing that could only be found in a five star restaurant. It was either abruptly leave the table or burst out into inappropriate laughter in front of him.
Rob was doing a good job of holding it together, but as the wine flowed, his true motives began to show. Finally, he began talking about his sexual desires. I was hoping he would bring this up once I was dead, but unfortunately, it happened around dessert.
"I love sucking dick," Rob informed me. "I could suck dick 24/7."
Check, please!
"I'll pay you $100 to come back to my place and let me blow you."
Without ever having prostituted, this seemed like a really low number. I was trying hard to not be so insulted that I would come back with a higher number and haggle over this.
"I can't do anything on this date that's illegal," I said. Truthfully, if he had added a couple of zeros to it, I was probably drunk enough to at least have a conversation about it. But $100? No thanks.
In actuality, the date ended up being a relief in some ways. While I might be willing to let go of certain luxuries for now, my dignity (or the sliver that's left of it) is not one of them. And with my leftover petite filet and half bottle of vintage port, I went home.
Yes, I had them cork the bottle, despite how gauche that is to do in a fine restaurant. Once a jew, always a jew.
It should be noted that I do have savings from holding down a big-boy job last year, but my jewish upbringing has caused me to be needlessly frugal and penny-pinching. You don't touch savings unless you absolutely have to. Not having a steady income has led to admittedly neurotic behavior over the last several weeks. Examples include making weekly budget charts several times a week, subsisting off pasta and cereal for days at a time, and feeling the need to prostitute myself (sans sex) off a dating website.
What's Your Price? This is the question that I was left to ponder after stumbling upon a dating website of the same name. The concept is pretty self-explanatory. You register as an "attractive" or a "generous." If you're a generous, you contact the attractives and throw out monetary offers for dates. The numbers vary, but the average on the site is about $100.
The site takes great pains to make it clear they are not an escort service, in the same way escort sites go to great lengths to make it clear they are not encouraging prostitution. They are, but use legal loopholes to cover themselves. You're paying for the person's "time," and what two individuals choose to do with that time has nothing to do with the site.
At this stage, the idea of being paid to go out on a date seemed pretty ideal though. Working almost every night, combined with a lack of interest, caused my love life (and life in general) to be placed on the backburner. Getting to leave the apartment and make money? Sweet.
I placed an ad on the site and went to bed. Within 12 hours, someone responded with a $125 offer for a date.
"Rob" was in his late 40s, with a massive gut that would shield me from seeing his penis if things got weird. We arranged to meet on a Saturday night.
"I'm taking you to a phat dinner at Morton's Steakhouse," Rob texted me. This was absurd for two reason. Firstly, Rob is white and a hedge fund manager. He was trying to woo me by using colloquial slang that was 15 years off, and race-inappropriate. Secondly, Morton's is a five-star restaurant. The entrees average more than $50, and the wines require a mortgage to be taken out. It was absurd to take a first date off the internet there.
We met at the restaurant bar and surprisingly, Rob seemed normal and the conversation went smoothly. I wouldn't be there without a monetary arrangement, but no longer felt that being raped or murdered was a possibility.
We were escorted by a waiter to the top floor of the steakhouse, where a bottle of wine was already chilling in a bucket of ice.
"I have a wine locker here," said Rob. "They just put it on my credit line for this restaurant."
"I have to go to the bathroom," I mumbled, racing down the stairs and bursting into laughter. This was the first of three such trips.
Because Rob ate here several nights a week and the staff knew him by name, there was a level of ass-kissing that could only be found in a five star restaurant. It was either abruptly leave the table or burst out into inappropriate laughter in front of him.
Rob was doing a good job of holding it together, but as the wine flowed, his true motives began to show. Finally, he began talking about his sexual desires. I was hoping he would bring this up once I was dead, but unfortunately, it happened around dessert.
"I love sucking dick," Rob informed me. "I could suck dick 24/7."
Check, please!
"I'll pay you $100 to come back to my place and let me blow you."
Without ever having prostituted, this seemed like a really low number. I was trying hard to not be so insulted that I would come back with a higher number and haggle over this.
"I can't do anything on this date that's illegal," I said. Truthfully, if he had added a couple of zeros to it, I was probably drunk enough to at least have a conversation about it. But $100? No thanks.
In actuality, the date ended up being a relief in some ways. While I might be willing to let go of certain luxuries for now, my dignity (or the sliver that's left of it) is not one of them. And with my leftover petite filet and half bottle of vintage port, I went home.
Yes, I had them cork the bottle, despite how gauche that is to do in a fine restaurant. Once a jew, always a jew.
