My Friend the Pimp

I had this conversation with a pimp once. Actually, in my job taking ads from pimps and prostitutes, I had many conversations with pimps, prostitutes, and madams. But only one of those conversations has stuck and become part of the fabric of my day-to-day. If there were a Top Hundred Countdown of the Most Important Conversations in my life, it would be right in there somewhere.

You see, there was this young pimp who came in every week to place his ads. He ran several of them. We required that all transactions be in cash. I guess it works best for all concerned parties that way. He'd pull the giant roll of hundreds out of his pocket and hand me ten of them, with no more thought than I apply to using a fistful of dollars to buy burritos at Anna's Taqueria. Young pimp was always impeccably dressed in what appeared to be designer suits - like I would know what a designer suit looks like. What he was wearing? That's what I imagine a designer suit would look like. He was always super-respectful, in a deep South sort of way that is rare up here. "Yes, Ma'am" and "No Ma'am" even though I was probably only a few years older than him.

He seemed so bright; he could have been running any sort of business. His future didn't seem, to me, to be limited to trading in flesh.

After months of weekly cash exchanges that were only a few words at a time, "Could you change that headline to read 'Georgia peach' instead of 'Spicy Latina', Ma'am? Thank you so much.", I asked him what got him into this line of work. He looked up from his bankroll like I had slapped him in the face. There was a long silence while we stared at each other.

I wish I had a videotape of the conversation that followed. Time has not been kind to my memory. I remember everything up to the conversation like I'm in it, but his exact words have gotten misty. I do remember his first response, "What would you have me do?"

I had no answer. He continued on, then, explaining that he needed to make money, and that this was the only way he knew how. There were no other successful working people for him to look up to as a kid. He climbed up the ladder of success that was presented to him at a young age, and he was doing brilliantly at it. He said kids like him didn't go to college or go into the above-ground business world and that it was something I could never possibly understand. He thanked me for placing his ads and left.

I didn't cry then, but I did cry afterwards, in my office. And I quit the job shortly after that. We needed the money, but we didn't need it that badly.

I support a lot of anti-human trafficking organizations. I look for other ways to make amends for having supported myself on the backs of young girls and the men who sold them. A lot of the anti-trafficking groups demonize the men and boys who pimp. I learned that day that a lot of those men and boys are trapped in the same web as the girls they sell. I'm not saying they don't do horrible things. I have read about the ways they entrap girls and keep them bonded to them. There's a flaw in the system, though, if men like my friend the pimp go into this business because they see it as their only option. And, yes, Backpage and all the other businesses (including the one I used to work at) who profit from this system of exploitation and slavery should pay.