Personal and Professional Stories of A Working Human
I moved to London. It’s a long story. I tried many different jobs, I wasn’t there legally so I couldn’t apply for certain jobs and the ones I did get were always with the understanding that these people sort of owned me. It was a disgusting feeling and they treated me like I was the lowest form of human life, or should I say lower than human life? The last job that I took was a job as a bartender with this local Irish pub and the owner was so abusive I would come home and cry myself to sleep, but I needed the money. Eventually this became too much and I could barely make it through my day off without bursting into tears because of how scared and awful I felt.
I decided I couldn’t go back, and took my last 6 pounds to a pub that I liked and chatted with the barman. I savored the beer I bought knowing I didn’t have enough for a second one. Just as I was leaving a man sat down and offered to buy me a beer. I flirted with him and he pretty quickly admitted he wanted to sleep with me. I told him he would have to pay. I was blunt about it, but said it with a smile. He bought me a drink, and then we went back to my room. At this current time I was renting a small room (I could touch both walls when I stretched out my hands) on the second floor of a large house. So obviously I couldn’t really be doing this all of the time, it wouldn’t go unnoticed. Later on I also felt the need to take better care of myself, which involved in avoiding these dangerous situations.
I told a friend of mine my business plan, in which I wanted to find a room to rent that was fairly nice and somewhere safe, and he said he had a spare room. I would like to point out that I was also drinking a lot at this point in my life and probably wasn’t making the most intelligent decisions, or even noticing pretty blatant things such as, all of the people around me (my “friends”) were alcoholics and sort of a bunch of bastards. So back to my story.
My friend took me to check out a room in his flat, and it’s really nice surprisingly. He says he can stick around and make sure I’m safe when I have men back to the room. Then he tells me he has to test the merchandise. I wasn’t entirely happy about this part. I hadn’t learned how to take care of myself, and by take care of myself I mean say “no.” I actually feel really disgusting about this part and I think I’ll just skip over the details. I stopped trusting a lot of people that day. but we are going to skip the details because honestly I just don’t want to go into that part of my head right now.
The thing about having a pimp is, at least for me, I didn’t get to say no. I didn’t get to turn men away and I didn’t get to choose who I saw. He wasn’t extremely violent, but he did scare the shit out of me. I was too scared of him to even tell him if some men hurt me. I don’t really know how to explain this but for a long time, it seemed like years, I feel like I was living inside a tinted shell. Like it was protecting myself from an abusive relationship and a lot of it is fuzzy. I remember a lot of it but it’s fuzzy. I was also drinking a lot and taking drugs.
This is the extremely brief version but in a way it feels really good to set down the first layer of this history. I will eventually go through more detail of every bit but since I’ve been so busy I wanted to put down the skeleton of my story.