Lesbians of the Night

Photo from kkirby462At around midnight, an 18-year-old boy approached my wife and me and said, “I’m willing to pay you for your services.” We were leaning up against a railing, taking in the atmosphere of The Armory for a Steve Aoki concert, agreeing that it was easily the most ethnically diverse event we had ever been to and, probably, the least age diverse.

Indeed, I swear the man who checked our IDs giggled when he realized one of us was born in the 70s and the other in the 80s. I don’t think he saw many of those two decades on cards in his evening.

We were unaware that we would be mistaken for sex workers, but we were highly aware that this concert was going to be significantly different than the P!nk concert we saw at the same venue three weeks before. At that concert, there were friendly security guards of all genders, many of whom may have been working their first shift… ever. They helped everyone find the bathrooms and the right place to get a drink. They greeted us with smiles and some of them bopped along to the music.

Last night’s security were all male, each at least 6’3″ and 220 pounds, carrying billy clubs and wandering among the dancers and the neon glow sticks in a way that indicated they were not fucking around. I smiled at one and he smiled back; I’m sure he was relieved to know that the woman in the flannel shirt and bright green baseball cap wasn’t going to cause as much trouble as the group doing a synchronized dance with what looked like glow-in-the-dark anal beads.

The very nice but obviously stoned man who was in charge of handing out 21+ wristbands stared at my power button wrist tattoo for a full 45 seconds before putting my “In-case-you-can’t-tell-this-person-is-38” ID on me. “Fucking wicked tattoo,” he said in a highly impressed voice, caring naught that he held up the line for longer than expected while I wondered if he had simply passed out standing up. It made me feel much better than it should have. “See? I can fit in here,” I thought to myself.

Then I realized that the easiest way to fit in at this particular concert was an inexhaustible ability to jump. (I do not possess said ability.) All audience members jumped in unison; they jumped randomly; they jumped in rhythm; they jumped for their Snapchat videos; they jumped in and out of stalls in the bathrooms; they jumped over and under the railing we leaned against between acts. I honestly believe that if I could attend an EDM concert three-four times a week, I could get in shape pretty quickly.

As it stands, I need to schedule a massage as soon as possible.

In any case, the 18-year-old approached us and asked if he could pay us for our services and my honest-to-god first thought was that he needed a ride home after the concert. Then he further explained what he was looking for, and my wife and I made eye contact in a way we hadn’t previously done because, honestly, no one had ever propositioned us in this way.

“No, no,” we told him and he looked at us. “Are you okay?” we asked him, assuming there was something wrong.

“I’m a little drunk,” the poor kid said.

“We know,” we responded. “Do you need help of any kind?” He shook his head and then danced with us (though there was no music at this point). He thanked us for our positivity, hugged us, and went about his evening. We decided to move away from the railing in case this was a nonverbal indication that we were available in some ways other than totally willing to help them locate their parents should they need.

Steve Aoki took the stage, blew our minds, and made the whole thing worth it, at least to me. My wife, on the other hand, informed me when our hearing finally returned that, “I get to pick the next concert and even if it’s Barry fucking Manilow, you will go without complaint.”

Life is about experiences. And in a game of “never have I ever,” I am now out on “Have you ever been mistaken for a sex worker at an EDM concert” … which is great cuz I always found that one annoying to lose on.

Cheers to The Armory! I’m pretty sure I would see any artist there at any time. I’ll just stay away from the railing.


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