To the uninvited hookers knocking on my door: thanks for not being Mormons


The author politely tries to help a wayward hooker discover the source of the mix-up.
In January, First Punch speculated that Ohio’s right-wing “Stripper Bill” — which affected absolutely nothing, by the way — was acting as an inadvertent boon to the local escort industry. After an experience the other night, I’m inclined to agree. Because you know ho business is booming when hookers show up at your door unordered like some wayward pizzas. I had just returned to my Warehouse District apartment from a late-night showing of Iron Man. I only mention the movie because it stars Robert Downey, Jr., which would prove very appropriate. ... At about 1:30 a.m., I heard a knock on my door. I opened it to find two women looking very bored in my doorway. Bleached blond hair, extra-short shorts, tanktops, dead eyes, and the overwhelming aroma of what smelled like Michael Jordan Cologne made it instantly clear: These were hookers. “This is my friend,” said one of the women. It seemed like the least pertinent piece of information she could’ve offered. “Okay,” I replied, not exactly thinking on my feet. “You’re the only one here, right?” she asked. I replied affirmatively, my mind racing. It wasn’t my birthday, I wasn’t getting married, and I don’t have any friends thoughtful enough to order me prostitutes without an occasion to celebrate. So what was going on here? The two ladies started moving toward my apartment. “Uh,” I said, stepping in front of them like a bouncer. “I didn’t call anybody or anything…” “You didn’t?” said the talkative one. She looked at a Post-it in her hand. “You’re not Derek?” I told them they must’ve been given the wrong apartment number. Downey, Jr. would have certainly called me a pussy. And so, pulling off indifferent like only two world-beaten prostitutes can, the women of the night apologized and turned away. Derek, if you’re reading this—and something tells me you’re a Scene reader, at least of the back pages—I guess there’s no way to say this without sounding like 2 $hort: I found your hoes. – Gus Garcia-Roberts


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