On my way home, several blocks from my house, in the middle of a five way intersection I watched my first solicitation of a prostitute. She was standing on the corner at four o’clock in the afternoon waving and strutting her stuff in tight jeans and a pink tank top. It was the top that really tipped me off because, c’mon, the temperature has drastically dropped in Seattle since the weekend. I sat at the stop sign and waited forever to get through it so I had plenty of time to watch her. I tried to think innocently, “Oh, she’s probably just waiting for a friend or something…and she’s really friendly and likes to wave at strangers.” And then she made eye contact with a guy in a truck and it was ON. He discreetly pulled into the parking lot of an old apartment complex and she took FOREVER crossing the street. Even though she was crossing at a crosswalk and cars kept stopping she insisted on waving them on, “no, no, go ahead!” At one point a cop drove by and I had this eery feeling, like part of me wanted to abandon my third wave feminist nature (that’s largely pro-sex work) and yell, “She’s a prostitute! Her client is right over there! I saw it all…and right by my house, the horror!” But part of me was sort of enthralled in a weird way, like I was watching COPS on channel 13 and it was all about hookers and there I was in the middle of the deal going down.

I’ve always felt that a certain level of permission should be given to grown adults making decisions regarding their bodies. I recently voted against a local inititiative to ban lap dances, increase lighting in strip clubs, and enforce a six foot minimum between dancers and clients because, frankly, I think law enforcement have better things to do with their time. I’m certainly not against strippers making money and men throwing it at them in their spare time…but sex for sale is a little different because of the bad associations with it. You know the rap: all sex workers are on drugs, on welfare, poor, down and out…etc. So, here I am, sitting at an intersection near my house and I’m sort of scandalized that this woman is so blatant. And I’m a little nervous…even though the park down the street from our old crib was supposedly a haven for prostitution (until it got its make-over from Starbucks), we never really saw any of that sort of activity. But then I rationalized, “Well, she’s not really hurting anyone…this is only a block away from the road rage shooting after all…I guess if I had to pick between drive-by shootings and prostitution I would pick the latter.”

That’s right…give me hookers over gang activity anytime.