Worst. Best. Prom. Ever.

When I was 17 and much more naive than I am now, I accidentally bought a hooker and took her to my Senior class prom.

It’s a long story.

I was never very popular in High School, so when I was asked to be the date for someone who I considered far beyond my league; I was quite excited.  I told my parents who were also excited.  Mainly because they were convinced I didn’t like girls.  So justifiably, we went the whole nine yards.  My father, thinking you needed to be classy helped me find the perfect tuxedo (with tails, top hat, cane and monocle) and my mother thought it would be cute if I got her a corsage that was the size of a VW Beetle. 

Two days before the dance, I’m talking to her (who shall remain nameless) when she tells me that she has opted to go with someone more her station in the High School pecking order.  I cry, beg, throw a tantrum.  All in all, I think I handled it quite well.

I can’t tell my parents, who had spent so much money with the idea that their son was going to have a magical evening with memories that would last forever.  So I made the only decision someone my age and maturity level would make.

I did an internet search for, “I need a date tonight”.

Now keep in mind, this is the early 2000’s.  Before Google, so what we used then were search engines like ‘webcrawler’ that would provide a long list of links without any regard for things like, ‘legal’ or ‘reputable’.  So I saw this list and one link drew my eyes.  “DO YOU NEED DAATE T0NIGHT$$!? CALL MAX AT 555-555-5555 <3~~!!”  I of course, clink the link.  I have always been very trusting of people who use capslock. 

The webpage is very sparse, simply requesting your name, credit card information, day and time for your date to arrive and how long you need her/him for.  The credit card is no problem, I steal my dads.  It makes sense to me, considering they so badly want me to have a good time; of course they’d be willing to pay a little bit more.  Then, after finally entering in all the information I need I see that the billing hours they use have a discount rate.  Apparently, the longer you need your date for; they stop charging as much!  How great is that?  So I opt for about…5 hours and send my request.

I spend the day of Prom as a nervous wreck.  My parents leave early as they don’t want to ‘harsh our good time’.  At about 730p I hear a knock at the door and I race to answer it.  When I fling open the door a vision stands before me.  In one palsied hand, she has a Virginia Slim 120; in the other, a beaten and worn coinpurse.  Spider veins race up her dessicated calves only to disappear under a tattered and frayed black cocktail dress.  Her yellow tinted skin matches her decayed teeth perfectly and the only hint of makeup is the bits that she forgot to clean out of her deep wrinkled face.  She was beautiful to me at 17. 

She takes a long draw on her cigarette, politely exhaling away from my face and with a voice of angels (if angels ate gravel and smoked 3 lighters worth of cigarettes a day) said, “You Germy?”

“Yeah that’s me.”

She points at herself with one long and bony finger, “I’m Cawrlah.  I’m ya date tahnyte.”  She twitches her head at her beaten up car, “Let’s go.”

I’ve never been more excited.  All I can think about is how jealous all my friends are going to be when they see me and Carla arrive at the dance.  Me, the one everyone makes fun of is going to show up with an adult woman!  Everyone else is with these immature high school girls, but not me!  Not Gerrimy!  I’m so lost in thought that I barely am paying attention to the subtle clues Carla sends my way about what her profession is such as:

“Y’know ya awfully young to be needin someone like me honey.”

“Y’know if ya parents are cops ya gotta tell me.”

“If ya got ten bucks, I’ll blow ya.”

We arrive at the convention center for prom and all eyes turn towards me and Carla.  I can tell she’s just as nervous as I am, because she immediately began moving towards the punch where our schools Principle was and started talking quite animatedly with her hands to him.

The night is a bust.  Carla spends all her time with a bunch of the teachers, walking back and forth from the dance area to the punch bowl to the bathroom and I’m stuck sitting at a table like a putz.  I decide to make the most of it.  I find the girl that stood me up dancing with the guy she decided to choose over me and I take a deep breath, fully prepared to confront the both of them.

“Hey!”  They stop dancing.  He is much bigger than he looked from across the dancefloor.

“Whatthefuckyouwant?” 

I steel myself, ball my fists and jut out my chin.  Adopting the masculine poses I had seen in so many comic books.  “I just wanted you both to know that I think you’re both trash.  You knew she already had a date and you just tossed me aside like I’m nothing as soon as something came along that you thought was better.”

He looks confused and points at Carla.  “Youbroughtafuckinghookertoadance!”

A red haze falls over me.  How dare he insult my date!  In a flurry of anger, I leap at him screaming, “Shesnohooker!She’sanicelady!”  I’m sure I could’ve come up with something better, but I didn’t have the time and didn’t plan on getting into a fight.  It’s at this point where I understand the difference between comics and reality. 

In comics the good guy wins, being strengthened by the power of their own righteousness.  In real life, no matter how right you think you may be, you will get your ass kicked if you are a fat kid trying to fight a football player.

It takes two hits for him to put me down.  Everyone is laughing at me, which is nothing new.  But there is one new thing to it.  Carla.  She’s kneeling down next to me, snarling at everyone and brandishing a stungun.  “You get tha fuck back or I’ll kill ya!”  She turns her attention back to me and pulls out some sanitary napkins from her coinpurse, dabbing at my face.  “Lets get ya outta here.”  She hoists up and we leave. 

Later that night, we’re at Dennys when I look at her over the mozarella sticks and ask her.  “You’re really a hooker huh?”

“Well…yeah.”

“Huh.  OK.”  This isn’t the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me so I just accept with a shrug and move on. 

“So…do you still want anything?  I mean we still have like two hours sweetie.”

“No.  I’m good.  I think I just wanna go home.”

She drops me off at my house and drives out of my life forever.

I never found out what happened to Carla, but two weeks later I came home to my parents yelling at eachother.  Apparently, someone had spent 500$ on an escort service.  A few years later, I told my parents what happened. 

My dad gave me a high five and my mom just shook her head.

 

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About gerrimyke

Nothing much to say really. A while back, I started to notice that as I was telling friends stories of my life, they were unsure if they were true or not. Then when they found out they were, suggested I write them down. So here we are.
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