I’ve always been the type of person who loves to make a scene. First, I’m really, really vain and love being the center of attention. Second, I love getting reactions out of people; it brings me joy. The other day I was out to lunch with my two bosses. Over grilled meatballs I was telling them about an educational movie I recently watched about female ejaculation (stay tuned, I’ll write about it). I’ve been told my voice carries quite a bit, but I don’t really notice it. I guess I was accidentally being loud because it seems everyone in the restaurant heard this discussion (you’re welcome, Vietnam Grille). As we walked outside, my direct boss said, “I have never seen people so relieved to see me leave some place before.” I replied with, “That’s nothing. I’ve had people applaud it.”
Anyway, when I took this job, I knew that telling people I meet what I do to pay my bills was going to be an adventure. Whether it be out at a club, at the bar I work at on Friday nights, or at the library, people are amused one way or another. The conversations always start a little something like this:
Them: “Oh, you just left the office, what do you do for a living?”
Me (smugly): “I’m a writer. Yea, it’s not a big deal. I write things and people read them because they’re important and that’s how I afford this lavish lifestyle.”
Them (confused): “So you bartend at nights for fun then?”
Me (obviously offended): “Do you want another beer or are you going to insult me all night?”
Them: “Sorry. What kinds of things do you write?”
Me (smug again): “I’m the head content writer for a website.”
Them: “Oh, really? What website? What are your topics?”
Me: “It’s stonedgirls.com, and I’m their sex blogger.”
This is where it gets fun. It’s been almost a month now, and here are my favorite types of reactions.
I’m A Writer Too
Apparently I wasted four years and tens of thousands of dollars at college, because everyone is qualified to be a writer. I meet so many people who think that because they wrote for their high school newspaper in tenth grade that they can come sit in my chair and do what I do every day. It takes a lot of time and effort to be this witty, and you better have good eyesight because you will stare at a screen until your eyes bleed like you have ebola.
Can You Get Me A Job?
A subgroup of the aspiring writers club is the “Can you get me a job?” club. I’m sorry, did I say “recruiter”, because I’m pretty sure I said “writer.” No, I cannot get you a job person I’ve known for ten minutes. Furthermore, it is your job to get yourself a job. Do you know how much weed smoking, awkward sex having, and ass kissing I had to do to get myself this job? You’re on your own, pal.
Charlotte, North Carolina is the greatest city in the entire world and it just so happens that’s where Stoned Girls is headquartered. That being said, it is the south. If you’ve never been to the south, it’s charming, beautiful, and conservative. Sometimes when men and women learn of my profession, they can be quite judgmental. I expected this, and have prepared answers to handle it. Yes, I have thought about my future. Yes, I know marijuana is still illegal in this state. Yes, my parents are still proud of me. Let’s move on.
Another type of negative reaction I get is the jealous bitch: people who are so jealous that I have the best job in the world that you can literally see them seething. A very insincere, “Oh, that’s interesting. Good for you, I guess,” is usually followed by an eye roll and no further questions about the subject.
To Catch A Predator
My favorite (least favorite) type of reaction, though, is what I call the Chris Hanson Effect, which almost always happens when I’m bartending. This person is always male, usually between 38 and dead, and at the bar alone. As soon as the word “sex” comes out of my mouth, his eyes light up with a creepy amazement usually reserved for children who kill small animals for fun. I am by no means a 13 year old girl who “just baked some cookies!”, but I am a young and vulnerable lady. They start asking creepy questions like, “Do you write about really dirty things?” or “Where do you get your ideas from?” or “What’s your address?” …Wait, what? Matt will be taking care of you from now on. I have to go repeatedly throw up in the bathroom.
The Chris Hanson Effect is usually followed with far too many shots of something ridiculous like Rumplemintz or Wild Turkey 101, multiple inappropriate comments about my physical appearance, and an illegible phone number written where a tip should have gone that I will ceremoniously light on fire once you leave.
Don’t get me wrong, there are super awesome people out there who dig everything about being a stoned sex blogger, and those people I love with my entire heart, and most of my vagina. To be fair, I don’t even dislike the other reactions I get from people. Like I said, I like making a scene, and I have found the perfect way to do it.