I received a coupon in the mail today for 20% off any service from Gertie’s Escort Service. I’ll sit here while you let that sink in.
I live in a very small town and I only know one Gertie. She’s my aunt. My very, very old aunt. And apparently, she’s a ho who owns an escort service. She also apparently is having a special on “one way, front-side only.” I shudder to think what that might be. (NOTE: Microsoft Word thinks I’m spelling “ho” correctly, but they might think I mean like ho-cubed, or something.)
I had to check this out. I called my mom. And yes, my Aunt Gertie owns an escort service. And yes, dear old Gertie is offering 20% off any service, one coupon per customer please, plus a ten dollar discount to anyone who refers a new customer. I threw up in my mouth.
“But honey, you’ve known about Gertie’s business. Your Uncle Dougie inherited it from his dad,” Mom explained, like that just clears it all up. “Don’t you remember? You used to hang out there after school when you were little and I was at work.”
There’s really not much to add to a conversation when your mom tells you that you used to go play at the whorehouse after school when you were little, but it does kind of explain why no one showed up for your eighth birthday party. I vehemently denied any knowledge of having a relative who inherited a used escort service.
“Of course you remember. You almost worked there that summer between ninth and tenth grade,” my now-dysfunctional mother added.
“Holy hell! I did WHAT???”
“Yes, you were going to work there, but then you didn’t pass your driver’s license exam so you couldn’t go out on appointments. Your older sister had to work there one more year instead, remember? She was so irritated with you for failing that test.”
(Let me understand this, because it’s not even making sense in my head. I failed my driver’s license test and my sister had to keep working at the whorehouse, and she was only IRRITATED with me?)
“My sister worked for AUNT GERTIE???”
“Of course. We could never have afforded her college without that money she made in the summers. She started out just answering the phone and booking the appointments and stuff, but one day a client called whose escort didn’t show up. Apparently, they’d double booked someone. Your sister just grabbed the spare keys and went to the appointment, and the client was so thrilled with her ability to make it right and do a good job that Gertie started letting her have her own appointments.”
This is the part where I was getting woozy and little black floaters inside my eyeballs started clouding my vision. I was speechless.
“Sweetie, did your phone cut out again? You really should switch to Verizon.”
“Mom, I’m having trouble with all this. First Gertie, then my sister. I just need a minute. I’ll call you tomorrow.” I hung up. I wanted to go lie down but I also wanted to drink something strong, and I wasn’t able to do both of those things at once. I opted for the drink and a noisy phone call to my sister, the once-upon-a-time retired part-time ho.
“Oh my gosh, have you been drinking?” she asked as soon as I got my question out of my mouth. It would have been really awesome if she hadn’t been right.
“Well, did you work in the whorehouse or not?” I whined, much to her amusement. It took a few minutes for her screams of laughter to die down to a breathy giggle before she could explain it all.
Apparently, an escort service is not only a pretty term for hookering, it’s also what they call that little pickup truck with the flashing lights and yellow flags that drives in front of a Wide Load rig. My aunt isn’t the saddest little madam ever and my sister officially didn’t turn tricks through medical school. I also now never got to play at that whorehouse after school and no, I didn’t get to work for my aunt. I do still have that coupon around here somewhere if anyone needs it, though.
Lorca Damon 
It took me 10 minutes to compose myself. Country girl that I am, the family that I have, many of them in Alabama, I totally related to this and started scanning memories to make sure I hadn’t missed something myself, as I was reading…you are brilliant! Love your blog!
[…] of my email inbox, offering me products to sample and review. Perhaps it was my blog post about my Aunt Gertie being a ho that turns Madison Avenue off, or maybe the one about manatees catching STDs. The post where I let […]
Hysterically funny. I knew the little truck was escorting the –in our part of the woods–mobile home but didn’t know that it was called an “escort service”. Come to think of it, we see way more of the truck kind of escort than the other kind here in Alabama. But I guess that’s a good thing.
This is hilarious. I didn’t know they called that an escort business either – and given the other kind, why haven’t they changed their name??? I wonder how many phone calls they get from ‘customers’ thinking they are the OTHER kind of escort? The coupon for the ‘one way, front only’ sounds really dirty, too, when you think it relates to a whorehouse.
I know, right? But apparently a one way, front only means (duh) just the one direction, but also that there isn’t a follow up car in the back. But now that you mention it, I totally can’t wait to get really drunk and try having a one way front only.
LMBO! I think I just peed a little, that was hilarious 😀
A little? How much do you think I peed when I thought I narrowly missed having to go to work in a whorehouse??? 🙂
Oh my heavenly stars! I laughed so hard I inadvertently kicked a pillow across the room, which ricocheted into the dog’s water bowl, which then spread water all over the floor…. which mixed nicely with my tears of laughter!
So basically, your dog loves you so much she drinks your very tears. Glad I could help!
You almost had me! Hey, my cousin was a famous mob boss’s mistress. Back in the day, that is. And actually she was my father’s cousin, (my father was a teenager at the time), but the mob boss used to come to my grandmother’s for Shabbos dinner. Back in the day, that is.
You really need to get this post published somewhere. Don’t know where, but somewhere.
I’m trying to think of the forum that would publish this stuff and I’m kind of afraid to have my name on it.
Which begs the question: Then what is the REAL reason your eighth birthday party bombed? 😦
Nope. It still had to be the ho-aunt. There is simply no other explanation. Maybe all my classmates’ parents were also confused about what she did for a living?
LOL. I know I did! That was a hysterical post, Lorca. 🙂
This is the funniest blog post ever! I had to read it twice, I am laughing so hard and I am going to share it everywhere! Thanks for making my day! (well, you usually do, but this one takes the cake!)
LOL! That was my post up there ^ I was still logged into my work blog account. Im always getting my work and personal accounts on everything mixed up–sometimes to my real embarrasment! Like tweeting about sex to the material handling twitterverse…
I do that all the time, but it’s usually tweeting from my work account about this opossum I just ran over instead of computer-related stuff.