The Tale of Two Working Girls

Everyone has their own definition of a 'working girl'. I tend to lean more toward the Harrison Ford/Melanie Griffith movie-version of the title. Others may lean toward the female American Gigolo version of the label. Regardless, a working girl makes money, whether it's donning a pin-striped suit for business or answering to a man in a pin-striped suit for business.

Last week, I made a trip to the booming metropolis of Flint, MI for business (why else, really, would people travel there?). I stayed overnight in a hotel I got off of Priceline - nice plug. I've had bad experiences with hotels - contracting bed bugs from a shady bungalow in the Thumb area - but I needed to save money and put in my bid.

I was estatic when The Baymont Inn & Suites took my bid. They're a national chain. I've never had a bad experience with them, and the original room rate was for more than $100. What could possibly go wrong.

I got in on Thursday night to meet a co-worker at the hotel and sat on a small, quaint bench right outside the lobby to wait for her. As soon as my butt hit the wood paneling, I was accosted by a very drunk, self-proclaimed millionaire and war vet. He wore a Hawaian shirt and cargo shorts, accented by a farmer-style ball-cap which displayed all of his medals. Here is the conversation:

"Damn. You are beautiful," he slurred to the best of his ability.

No response. Minimal eye contact from me.

"Do you know who I am? I'm a war vet."

"Well, thank you for your service," I said as I tried to dodge his flying spit.

"Oh, it's too late for that. It was 40 years ago. This country sucks." He was pretty defensive as he continued to encroach my limited space.

"Well, I wasn't around 40 years ago, so thanks anyway."

He then proceeded on a long tirade about how he was meeting two girls at the hotel that night. His wife didn't know. He lived in Mexico (afterall, he HATES America). He's a millionaire who invented NASA or something. And then he looked in my eyes (or tried to) and stated once again that I was beautiful.

Just then, my co-worker arrived. I was relieved. I didn't want to be rude, but I needed windshield wipers to hold a conversation with him and a breathalizer test when the conversation was over. As I turned to greet her, a huge glob of something landed on my leg and Mr. Drunk Man tried to wipe it off. Needless to say, I jumped up and declared that we were late for a meeting.

He still didn't leave. So, we went inside the hotel and the clerk asked if he was bothering me and I asked that if my room was anywhere near his, I wanted to be relocated. No need. She called the cops and had him escorted out. Guess he wouldn't be able to meet his two lady friends after all.

Seeing as I had to get up at the butt-crack of dawn to do a live radio interview, I left my room at 5 a.m. and headed to my car. Coming out at the same time was a group of ladies sporting fishnet stockings and hoochie mama attire.

As they held the door open for me (very polite) I overhead, "Dang girl...THAT was a workout." Mental note - they just got finished working.

I began loading my car when a decked-out pimp mobile cruised by with two young men scouting the parking lot.

"Damn girl, you a working girl?" With the ladies of the night nowhere in sight, I felt obligated to answer him.

"Um, I think you and I have two different definitions of what a working girl is," I replied with as much nonchalance as possible. I wasn't scared, just annoyed.

"Well you sure are fine. You married?"

"Yes."

"Where he at?"

"Inside, packing up the rest of the stuff." (Lie)

"You faithful?"

"Yes."

"Damn girl. You are fine. If you ever decide to be unfaithful..."

"Have a good morning."

When I got in my car, I didn't know whether to feel complimented...or dirty. I started second-guessing my conservative suit. Did it look slutty? Only if one thinks Laura Bush or Hillary Clinton look like hookers too.

I decided to take the comments from drunken, anti-American spitter and Pimp-Daddy, creepy guy in stride. While they could never hold a candle to my husband, who compliments me daily, they've got me thinking - if this whole job thing doesn't work out...perhaps I could make it as a 'working girl' (in Flint).