Remember That Time I Tried to Become a Phone Sex Operator?

Good morning, class. Have you chosen a career path yet, do you know what your infinite goals are in life? If you’re on your way to a career, you’re in better shape than me and if you’ve merely decided on which career you would one day like to pursue, you are in better shape than me still. See I always planned on a career in the literary field and being your typical, snooty natural-born writer, I have always believed I could write circles around anybody in the world. I’ve never had any qualms about correcting both the spelling and grammar of each and every english teacher/ professor I have ever encountered, and some math and science teachers as well . . . also several stenographers, reporters and a couple people who just put up the specials board at Applebees. ALL HAIL TO BRIANNE SLOAN, the master of the comma! Why would this great and powerful writer ever have needed to pay attention on career day? That’s ridiculous!

See, THIS was my logic: I truly believed that my talent was just so extraordinary and so astonishing, that publishers everywhere would fall to their knees and praise the lord when faced with my miraculously phenomenal knowledge of the English Language! They would be so overwhelmed by my remarkable gift that neither education nor experience would matter in the slightest; they would sign me immediately and offer me several book deals on the spot. I would guest star on Conan and travel the globe, giving lectures to young authors and teaching third graders all the key points on respecting the almighty comma! My books would become movies, the movies would become television shows and I would become both rich and famous, bungee jumping off the Eiffel Tower and building a villa in Vienna where I would live with my three lovers, Marco and Polo and Clyde.

Now that plan seemed pretty fool-proof to me, but somehow it didn’t work out like I was hoping it would. No one has ever praised the lord after reading my writing, I have never been offered a book deal and I do not know anyone named Marco or Polo or Clyde. I have never been toVienna and I have yet to meet Conan O’Brien. Somehow I ended up in St. Augustine, dressing like a pirate and telling ghost stories. Though I do on occasion give lectures to third-graders, they’re usually Ponce De Leon oriented and I have never discussed with them the many wonders of the super-dynamic comma. My life is not going in the direction I had planned and I’m starting to notice that starving artist may not have been the best career choice~ I never thought about the fact that they actually starved.

So I’ve got to think of something quickly, I need to pick a career so I don’t end up working a crappy retail job for the rest of my life! And come on . . .  how much longer am I going to be able to get away with dressing like a pirate for a living? Pirates make peanuts, we all know this. I knew I wouldn’t be happy working a 9 to 5 office job or even any 9 to 5 job really, so I decided to buckle down and get creative! I remembered that phone-sex operators made good money and the idea of working from home appealed to me, so I tried to look into that! Everything I came up with led to a sadly dead end, so I decided I would have to contact some real authorities on the subject! I composed this letter:

Greetings, Lex and Terry!

            I suppose the best way to start off this letter would be singing your praises or telling you I love you more than I love the Beatles, but I am afraid I cannot do that. It’s not my fault, I’ve just never been particularly exposed to your show; I am a Jacksonville native and though I grew up listening to ROCK .105, I listened to every show but yours; I don’t wake up in the mornings.

My name is Brianne Sloan. I am 25 and a tour guide in historical St. Augustine. I am not a prostitute, I am not a porn star, I’ve yet to hear back from Playboy and I’ve never jumped out of a cake. In fact, most of my nights are spent dressed like a pirate wench, taking tourists to local pubs and telling them ghost stories while they get hammered~ it’s a living, but not a good one. As you know, the economy sucks right now and at this time, being a saucy pirate wench isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I’m trying to organize a strike amongst my fellow tour guides, but no one seems too interested in the Pirate Revolution I’ve proposed and it’s fairly difficult to form a decent revolt by yourself. I’m running out of options!  I’m really a writer, but I have more chance of becoming famous for my crime-fighting abs than for my fancy prose style~ did you know that Playboy actually pays more than winning the Pulitzer?

So I’ve decided on a new career path! I want to be a phone sex operator! Maybe my grandma wouldn’t be very proud, but! I feel I am highly qualified for this innovative career move~ I have extensive dramatic experience, inclusive of, but not limited to my role as head mouse in the third grade play, lead anchor in the high school news production and being crowned Opera Queen back in kindergarten. I made it to the fourth round of American Idol, and that was with limited training and little or no actual talent. I’d be such a valuable asset to this crucial public service! I will be Super Phone Sex Lady, saving women everywhere from the horrors of infidelity, while protecting their husbands from hazardous fraternization with STD-infected hookers! I have researched the field, familiarized myself general phone sex jargon and have become comfortable with many taboo fantasies, such as Baby Businessman, Masturbating Mommy and Erotic Alien Invasion! I bet I could even cook up some fancy Naughty Girl Scout stuff and I have no qualms about BAHHHHHing loudly at a horny farmer until his release. And the beauty part is that I could do it all from home! While balancing my checkbook or alphabetizing my encyclopedias, composing piano concertos or developing physics theorems—I would get everything done!

As you can see, my work is cut out for me, but I’ve encountered a few roadblocks—it’s much harder to get started in this field than I would have expected. I have no clue how to go about obtaining this type of employment and the other day I had an idea: Sometimes I catch snippets of your show and every so often, I hear you guys messing around with one Misbehaving Mommy or Goodtime Granny or another and it occurred to me that maybe you could point me in the right direction? I would be greatly appreciative of any advice you could give me.

Sincerely,

Unemployed and Desperate in St. Augustine

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4 Responses to Remember That Time I Tried to Become a Phone Sex Operator?

  1. Funky Cole Medina says:

    “live in Vienna” “I would live with my three lovers Marco, Polo, and Clyde” … “I do not know anyone name Marco or Polo or Clyde.”
    I can set you up in a villa in Italy and introduce you to a Marco, a Paulo, and clown; is that close enough ? :-)
    And you will NOT have to know anything about a dirty sanchez, a hot pocket, a santorum, or a snowball ! :-)

    Seriously now, if you need sponsorship for the stand up act on stage, which I think would be a smoother and simpler transition for you, google my real name from my real name from my real email, and shoot me a line on my real email. We’ll put you to work on something other than dead ends … need I mention “bubble room” ? :-p
    If Chelsea Handler can have a show, what the heck !? right ?

  2. Bri says:

    “Ba Dum, Ba Dum! *HAPPY BIRTHDAY FROM THE . . . BUBBLE ROOM!*

    “Ba dum! Ba dum!”

    (that job sucked!)

  3. Funky Cole Medina says:

    Only a handfull of jobs don’t suck.
    Everything else does at some point.
    At least you are not stuck.

    As a point of reference, even amateur gynecology is not as fun as it sounds! :-)
    There are things that once heard can not be forgotten: macarena, achy-breaky-heart, the pina colada song, AND your neighbor’s sexual perversions towards your dog… just sayin’ … be careful with what you wish! :-)
    I’ll shut up now.

  4. Enjoyed examining this, very good stuff, thanks . “Whenever you want to marry someone, go have lunch with his ex-wife.” by Francis William Bourdillon.

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