April 14, 2010

Stop Telephoning Me!

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Approximately three ago, as I sat in the food court of Philadelphia International, waiting for my plane to board, I had a brilliant idea: interview a porn director for my column! The problem: my lack of porn director acquaintances. The solution: meet porn directors. As it happens, there is a man who lives a few streets away from me who is rumored to be a porn director. Why do people say he is a porn director? Probably because he has bumper stickers on his cars suggesting that people visit particular non-PG websites.

Deciding that I couldn’t pass up the only opportunity I had to interview a maybe porn director (who I will subsequently refer to as P.D.), I decided to pay my neighbor a visit.  A few days after my return to California, accompanied by my buddy Kendra (I needed back-up in case he turned out to be a rapist), I rang P.D.’s doorbell.

Me: Hi, my name is Hazel and I write a column for my school paper; I was hoping I could interview you.

P.D.: Why would you want to interview me?

Me: Well, my column is called “Sex on Thursdays” and I’ve heard that you direct porn videos …

P.D.: **slams door**

Whether P.D. actually directs porn videos for a living or not, we may never know. But I did learn my lesson regarding the use of tact in scoring interviews, I moved on to plan B (which, incidentally, did not exist till plan A miserably failed): interview a phone sex operator. Unfortunately, I also knew no phone sex operators. But that was a minor problem.

After looking up various phone sex lines, I finally settled on a number to call. While I would love to share the number with you, the operator only agreed to speak with me if I promised to leave both her identity and place of employment confidential. Alas, this week’s “Sex on Thursdays” will not be featuring any sex ads — my apologies.

My interviewee, who I shall refer to as B.L. (bi-curious lady), was quite cautious as first, but she warmed up quickly. B.L. was “not just a phone sex operator.”  She was everything but, apparently. She was a budding star (isn’t everyone in L.A.?), a newcomer to the city and a Cancer.  She claimed that her agent suggested she take this job since she had mentioned that she was having a hard time making ends meet and apparently her agent also thought that it would make a nice anecdote for when she was famous (like Brad Pitt’s working as the chicken mascot for El Pollo Loco before making it big).

To get the job she did have to go through an interview process that culminated in having her boss listening in on a trial phone call. She said that it was smooth sailing from there and that calling isn’t as awkward as you’d guess. B.L. said that you get over the awkwardness quickly. She also added, “Honey, if you don’t, this ain’t the job for you.”

The best part of the job? The acting practice! B.L. says that adopting different personas during calls is a lot like auditioning for a part. Among other things, she has been asked to pretend to be a cowgirl, a librarian, an Arabian princess and Pocahontas.

The worst part of the job? Stalker callers. It is appropriate (and common) to request a specific operator. The operators often have codenames callers can use to request them by, but some phone sex frequenters have gone to great lengths to find out their favorite operator’s true identity. B.L. told me that one of her colleagues, codenamed Paris Hilton, came home to find a bouquet of roses addressed to her real name from one of her regulars. There was an accompanying note asking her out on a date. She said no and asked for a restraining order. Ah, young love!

The best part of the interview? B.L. let me take a call so long as I promised not to tell her boss (I figured I can at least brag to all of Cornell about it, though). My caller wanted me to pretend to be an Australian surfer — thankfully I can throw shrimp on the barbie with the best of them.  And with that, I bid you all a sexual Thursday. See you in two weeks!   RLD

Original Author: Hazel Gun