A hooker once told me she had a headache.
Rodney Dangerfield
So, a funny thing happened to me whilst I was driving on the clean streets of Zurich. It wasn’t ‘funny-haha’. Actually, more than anything, it was illuminating. So, I guess, it wasn’t funny at all.
Let me paint you a picture. It’s a chilly winter’s evening during a worldwide pandemic, the streets of Zurich are a lot quieter than they, normally, would be and driving around town is, generally, a less stressful experience. I am cocooned in a warm vehicle. Blaring through the speakers, Drake is sing-song-rapping about being in love with two girls… or whatever. I am grateful that someone else is doing the driving so that I can just enjoy the music, look around and take in the simmered heat of the city.
From a quiet side-street, we turn on to Langstrasse, which, literally, translated means ‘long street’ because that’s what it is. The area is famed for its music, food, bars, clubs, nightlife and for being a rare pocket of multiculturalism. It’s also known for its salaciousness and some sordidness, so… yes, hookers and drugs. It is no surprise to see a bunch of prostitutes around Langstrasse, with their hair perfectly blown out and lashes expertly glued-on, huddled in corners and giving you the stink-eye as you pass by. However, since C-19 started to spread, I assumed – quite rightly – that the streets would be closed for business.
So, when I saw a dishevelled man with greasy, mousey hair hanging over one eye approaching a rather lovely looking lady, her pale chest exposed and her mini skirt and open-toed block heels suggesting she wasn’t feeling the chill in the air; I thought to myself, she’s way out of his league. However, in that moment, there was a blind panic; six or seven women, including the lovely lady and the guy ran into a side alley and into the back door of a building. I looked up and saw a police van, cruising slowly towards the traffic light. Then it occurred to me – the streets were not closed for business!
Warning: I am going to sound judgemental because I fully intend to be. First of all, how desperate does one have to be for sex, in order to solicit a prostitute during a pandemic? What tipped the scales in favour of risking contracting a horrendous viral disease versus not dying a grim and grisly death? I understand wanting or needing intimacy but is it worth it under such perilous circumstances?
Secondly, I felt awful thinking about the plight of the women who have no choice but to work in the industry at this time. Let’s face it, a man who uses the services of random hookers in the days of covid is not, necessarily, being careful during the other 23hrs and 55mins of the day. (an extra 2mins was added for payment of the transaction). So these women are even more at risk. To be clear, I don’t want to hear any bullshiz about how empowering sex work is because if your manager is making you take a such risk at this time, it is exploitation, with no regard for your health and safety.
Needless to say, I was filled with a sense of abject horror and wild naivete. I wondered if porn stars were still working. I mean, it’s not as if the world is going to run out of pornography if they stop filming for a year. Surely, they deserve a rest – the fictional pizza delivery guy and the woman who, wilfully ordered one anyway, knowing full well she had no money. Let’s give them and ourselves a mindful break.
