That Time I Was Mistaken For A Prostitute


What did you call my mother?

I know it’s hard to believe (you’ve seen my pictures), but one time I was mistaken for a prostitute. It’s not what you think. I wasn’t hanging out on the corner slinking around in a sexy Halloween costume or anything. Nope, I was selling handmade Christmas stockings, at a flea market, with my mother.

There I was minding my own business whan an old man drove up in his rusted out truck and stared at me through his window for at least eight minutes straight. He was staring at me in a creepy, unrelenting way. Like you might stare at cattle before making a purchase. I was wearing jeans, a sweater and a jacket because it was November. It was cold. I’m only telling you this to make it clear that the only skin I had exposed was on my face and on my hands. There is no way any rational person would have thought I was selling anything more  than Christmas stockings on that fine November day. No way at all.

He finally got out of his truck and came over to our table. Then, he offered me $50 to go home with him. I don’t think there is anything quite as embarrassing as being offered money for those kind of services IN FRONT OF YOUR MOTHER, but what could I do? I simple said, “No thank you.” Then I asked him if he would like to buy a Christmas stocking. Inside I felt a little insulted, a little disgusted, and a little bit like jumping over the table and strangling the man with my bare hands. It made me feel unsafe and uncomfortable and angry. He didn’t leave right away either. He just stood there looking at me as if he was completely dumbfounded by my response. As if he had never been turned down before. I found that hard to believe.

I started to look around at the other young woman selling their crafts and junk at the flea market and wondered how often he got a yes from one of them. Someone must have been saying yes because he seemed pretty surprised to hear me say no. I wanted him to leave, but instead he just stood there staring at me. Then he moved back about three feet and stared at me some more. It was strange. Finally, he left and I was relieved.

It took me a few months to stop worrying about running into that man again. I would see a truck that looked like his and flinch. It wasn’t so much that he thought I was a prostitute that freaked me out. It was more the staring and the not leaving that made me worry. I haven’t been back to that Flea Market since. I’m not sure what is going on over there, but I am pretty sure I want no part of it.

So, that’s the story of how I was once mistaken for a prostitute. Let’s all hope it never happens again because that is not how anyone expects to spend their Saturday morning at the flea market. Is it?

18 thoughts on “That Time I Was Mistaken For A Prostitute”

    1. I was probably 34. It wasn’t that long ago. I think my mom told him, “Get out of here.” I can’t remember exactly. I’ll have to ask her if she remembers. I think we were both just stunned. Neither of us had ever had anything like that happen.

  1. That is awful. Very creepy. $50 is excessively low to what a disgusting pig. It is unnerving to think of people in the world that would think a woman could be bought and sad to think that it actually happens.

    1. I was insulted by the low offer. Also, I was disgusted that I was insulted by the low offer. I mean, that wasn’t the point, but I still thought of that. It was such an icky experience. It made me sad that there were women in positions desperate enough to go with him.

    1. I felt like doing a junk punch or maybe giving him a swift kick in the family jewels. Maybe next time I will be quicker with my reactions.

    1. The weirdest part is I was polite because I didn’t want to be rude…to the man who just tried to buy me. I need therapy, obviously.

  2. I confess – I was mistaken at a truck stop. On Easter Sunday. I was more upset that it happened on Easter than at the proposition. My husband was on the other side of the store, and I ran and hid behind him. He’d heard the whole thing and was LAUGHING.

    The worst part? A transgendered individual came over to me and started giving me advice about how to get my pimp to treat me better. I haven’t set foot in a truck stop since.

    1. Wow your story is worse than mine! That is awful. Husbands are annoying. Mine didn’t seem to think it was a big deal when it happened to me either. I wanted him to defend my honor!

  3. Oh My God. I’m sorry that happened to you. But everyone knows selling handmade Christmas stockings at Christmas time at a flee market is code for prostitution. Just kidding. I think that man must have been crazy. I mean all that staring and refusing to walk away and not seeming to understand how he could get turned down. He had to be out of his mind.

    1. Apparently, I have lived a very sheltered life, but now I am aware of the Christmas prostitution ring. Maybe he had alzheimer’s? Let’s hope that was it.

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