06-27-00
A bad day at work, and unforseen forces have conspired to give me a mood most foul and irritable. Instead of rambling nonsensically about the mean reds I am currently sustaining, I will instead snuggle deeper into my blanket and tell you a story about the place where I live, and...
the whores next door:
The building that I live in used to house a grocery on the street level, with storage in the basement and the family who owned and operated the grocery living upstairs. At some point, the building was sold, the upstairs was reconfigured into a functional 3.5 bedroom/1.5 bath apartment, the main level became a store front housing a massage parlour, several suites connected to said den of iniquity, a second apartment, and the basement became a storage area and a third apartment. I live on the main floor, sharing a wall with the whores.
You may now be asking yourself several questions that I hope to address in this list of 'frequently asked questions.'
1) How do I know they are hookers? This is a good question. I used to live in the upstairs apartment, and had somehow managed to not be aware of the goings-on of our downstairs neighbors. Once people found out where I lived, I couldn't help but have people tell me left and right about how some friend of a friend got a blowjob in my building one time or another. And then there were the trashy bimbos that hung out downstairs. Now, I work in an industry related slightly to massage, and I can tell you, other than at this place and a few others like it, you don't get to have the girl cutting your hair or rubbing your shoulders be naked or wearing lingerie. It's just not done. These women looked like rejects from the local strip club. And sometimes you could hear them through the heat vents, negotiating with the clients or just moaning in paid-for ecstasy. There are other indicators too, but I will discuss those in greater detail later.
2) How can an establishment of this nature operate in God-fearing Iowa? I mean, isn't prostitution illegal? To be honest, I have no idea why the place [actually places - they have three locations in the area] hasn't been raided by the police for being a purveyor of prurient naughtiness. Everyone in this town seems to know it exists, and yet this location operates less than 2 blocks from the country courthouse, and a mere 3 blocks from the sherriff's department.
3) Have I made communication with the dark side in the 5 years I've lived in this building? Actually, no. One of the fat ones likes to sit outside the back entrance to the building and eat an entire box of KFC, then leave the empty packaging underneath our mailboxes, but we've never had words. At some point, one of the hookers knocked on the door of my old apartment and interacted with my then-roommates, which I will tell you about now. Heather and Melissa were approached by one girl who wanted to know if we had any baking soda she could use. We didn't have any, but she told them that if they went and got her some, she'd either give them 20 bucks, or an eighth of primo weed. They shot out of here like hellhounds were hot on their heels, and reappeared about 15 minutes later with a small baggie of something, and disappeared into Melissa's room. 10 or so minutes later, a familiar acrid odor and tawny smoke began creeping out from under the door, and much giggling was to be heard. To this day, I'm not sure what the baking soda was for.
To be continued.
