I talked to one of my oldest acquaintances whom I knew from high school. I had some papers I wanted to share with her from when we were about 30 years old. I also tip-toed a little down memory lane. She remembered things differently from the way I did. I’ll call her “P.”
When I was 19 years old, I was living with a black man for several years: Kel. I was working full-time for a big insurance company downtown L.A. The pay was minimum wage. When I met Kel, he was also working for minimum wage. We fell in love.
I found a better job by hooking up with a few girls who were turning tricks. I was not brave enough to go stand on a street corner. But it was easy to work by referral through other prostitutes. After awhile one of the women gave me her “book.” That was a gold mine. You wouldn’t believe the famous names that were in that book. This woman, Amber, told me not to use her real name. I just called them up and said, “Carol gave me your number.” “Oh, how is Carol?” they would say. If times were slow, a girlfriend and I would go to bars at hotels like the Beverly Wilshire (my favorite), the Beverly Hilton, the Century City Hotel. This was a better way of making money than a 9 to 5 job. Better hours and better pay.
Most of my clients were “regulars” and a few of them fell in love with me. One wanted to leave his wife and four kids. That one turned in to a lot of drama. Some wanted to rescue me. Some wanted to take care of me. And I never ran into any dangerous situations.
While talking with P, she remembered when I left Kel. I was living with Kel for about three to five years. My parents were pretty racist so they said they would send me to Paris. That sounded good because it would also keep me far away from my parents. P said that she and another friend gave me a ride to the airport. I remember going to Paris with my mother.
P could not remember Kel’s name, so she called him my “handler.” I’m pretty sure she meant pimp. Later that night I was half-listening to a TV drama like “Law and Order.” I avoid watching these types of crime shows mostly because they’re pure fiction. On the TV, the female cops were talking about getting these prostitutes away from their handlers. I had never before heard this term used in real life.
Well, here are some non-fiction facts about me and my “handler.”
-I wouldn’t call Kel a pimp.
-I was not forced to have sex with any man I didn’t want to.
-I was not brainwashed, nor indoctrinated.
-I was not stealing from anyone.
-I took a shower at least once a day.
-I was not addicted to drugs at that time. That came later when I was 32 years old.
-I was never beaten up by Kel. I don’t think he ever even lost his temper with me. It
was I myself who was more likely to lose my temper.
-I was never sexually molested by my father.
So after talking to P that day, later that night I was half-listening to the TV and a crime show like “Law and Order” was playing. The women cops were talking about getting these poor abused prostitutes away from their “handlers.” This was probably the first time I had heard this word after P used it. I was surprised at the way prostitutes were portrayed as caricatures in this made-up story on TV: a picture which had so little to do with reality and more to do with making its viewers feel “better than” or more fortunate. What a great way to get TV viewers addicted to their shows.
I suppose P believes she helped me escape a brutal situation by giving me a ride to the airport to go to France. I don’t remember it this way. My mother gave me a ride to the airport. But this could fit into a hero narrative of P’s.
I am not trying to put P down. She has many admirable qualities. She worked her way up the ladder of success. I can’t imagine she has ever made a mistake in her life. She is very put-together with every hair in place. She would never wear white after Labor Day. She is near genius IQ. I know because I gave her the Wechsler intelligence test.
Now P can point out many unattractive qualities about me when I was in my teens. And she did. She also tried to help me as a friend. At that time I did not even know the meaning of the word “friend.” But I rebelled against any gesture that had a “should” in the context.
My point is this: I am often in a state of bewilderment; when I talk to people who believe information on TV or on the internet as true. In the age of Google anyone can look up information. And you can check Wikipedia and other reputable websites. You can even (gasp!) read a book. I rarely believe something the first time I encounter it: I store the info in my short-term memory and then research it.
Yet people believe what they hear on Fox News or the internet or their neighbor without even questioning the source. They will read a book that is classified as fiction and swallow the premise. Many of these TV shows claim to be fact (“Ancient Aliens,” “Survivor,” “The Real Housewives,” conservative TV shows) but they are designed to entertain. They are edited to keep viewers involved, often by stoking anger at the “other side.” There is nothing like anger to make a person feel righteous.
Another phenomenon I run into: some people think it’s a bad trait to be open-minded. They learn one bit of data and will hang onto it forever. They cannot admit they were wrong, so they stop thinking and build a wall in their minds.
I’m not against television. I look at it as the American form of meditation. But how can you let it lull you into a state of vulnerability up to the point of brainwashing? There are only two ways you know something is true: 1) you experience it through your five senses, or 2) someone tells you (including TV, newspapers, books, another person. Then you have to figure out the veracity of the info. You can do this by trusting the source, by doing your own research, by questioning the teller with deductive logic, by questioning the motive of the teller, and many other ways I haven’t thought of. Is that so hard?
MethadonianX 