INSIGHT + ADVICE

Never Pay Sex Workers with Loose Change

Life lessons your mother never taught you as a child

There are many lessons you learn as a child growing up:

• Look both ways before crossing a street
• Don't run with scissors in your hands
• Never take candy from strangers
• Don’t let Uncle Barry come into your room at night after he's been drinking

Easy, everyday crumbs of knowledge sprinkled into your long-term memory by your dear parental units.

They try their best to prepare children with everything needed to be safe in life and to use their common sense.

Some lessons, however, cannot be taught, but must be learned through first-hand experience:

• Size does matter
• Never trust a fart if you have an upset stomach
• If you have to wipe more than three times — you’re not done pooping
• Never pay a sex worker with loose change

On the final leg of our family Christmas vacation, we finished strong by ending in Las Vegas. Sin City had everything you could imagine you wanted, and there were plenty of people willing and able to give it to you.

Our family had this fun challenge going where we would try to spot the sex workers on the street like a Where’s Waldo or an I-Spy game. My kids were really into it, and I was happy because we were making incredible family memories in the process.

These two beautiful Russian women approached us to take pictures with my husband. He was already starting to turn the shade of red on those leather boots.

I shout, “HELL YES!!! Get over here!” probably more cheerfully than necessary, which leads me to believe that I was inviting them for more than just a photo-op. I made sure to take a lot of pics of him being spanked before the session finally ended.

That’s when things got weird. As the women approached me, I was smiling ear to ear — probably giving off the wrong kinds of signals about the direction the experience would lead.

“Did you like?” one of them asked. I answered almost too quickly, “Oh yeah, I loved it! My husband loved it too!”

The next words I heard were, “Ok, good. You give tip, and we go back for more.”

Jesus Christ, what had I just gotten myself into? What had I gotten my husband and my family, into? SHIT!!!

“Ohhhh, ok. I can give you a tip for the photos, but we are headed to dinner in a bit, so we can’t stay.” I had to think fast.

I lied. I lied my ass off and gave the first excuse that popped in my head to get us the hell out of this situation FAST.

Having never been to Las Vegas, I was unaware of the common practice to tip street performers and the like, upwards of $20 in cash. I wasn’t carrying much on me that day because I had spent most of it at the casino.

But I did have a purse full of quarters, having been to a laundromat a few days ago.

As the two women watched me dig in my endless void of a purse, waiting for me to pull out wads of Franklins and Adams, a look of disappointment and shock covered their faces when I finally presented them with a hardy fistful of quarters.

There was probably close to $15 in my hand by the weight.

As I smiled and reached my hand towards the lovely women, they stepped back. “No. No, we don’t take that,” the lady in red informed me. “You get cash. I break $100 bill for you.”

“Not so fast there, buddy,” I thought. “I’ve got the money right here!” Why was this becoming such an issue?

“Sorry, I don’t have any cash on me right now. This is all I’ve got.”

“I take to ATM, and you get cash. You have CashApp? You send me money on CashApp.” She was getting frustrated, as was I.

“No, not go to ATM. I don’t have CashApp. I have dees,” I reiterated, as once again I reached out my fistful of loose quarters.

Why had I started speaking in a broken English accent?

I looked to my husband for help, only to find him wrangling up our children and walking away, leaving me to deal with the mess I had gotten myself into — as any good husband would.

Needless to say, they were not amused at my innocent effort to pay them for the pictures. They refused to take my quarters and walked away. I was left behind with my loose change and a bit of embarrassment.

I had no idea about the cash-only rule, so for the rest of our stay in Vegas, I never got another picture from any of the street performers or sex workers.

I hope you never find yourself in the sticky situation of trying to pay a sex worker with loose change, as I did.

If you’ve enjoyed this story and would like to read more of my misadventures and other content, be sure to subscribe to my mailing list to stay up to date on all the wild shit I seem to get myself into.

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Verity Simmons is a one-of-a-kind writer who shares many different aspects of her life, including parenting, relationships, humor, and the human experience. A graduate of Oxford and Yale with degrees in both awkwardness and self-introspection. Her favorite quote is, “Laugh. Lurk. Loathe.”