Sometimes I do some exceptionally not-so-bright things. Today was a day with much of that.
This morning, before 7 a.m., I got dressed for a Greyhound bus ride to cozy and warm Sacramento. I work sandals, and this elegant business suit top, and a dress that was … way short. And, bare legs. I didn’t think much of it since I was just planning to pick up my old Volvo at a mechanic’s place and then meet a friend in Livermore — not much public exposure planned. This is what I looked like:
Yeah, the dress is short. I know. I figured that only the mechanic, and my friend and maybe a very few other people might see me in that. And, the mechanic and my friend are each open-minded and encouraging of me dressing up as the wild girl if that’s what I choose to do. My excuse, if I need an excuse, is that I’m compensating for years’ worth of repression of my female sexuality.
Problem is, the mechanic who came to pick me up at the Greyhound bus station was not punctual, so I waited and waited outside the bus station, with some not-too-savory folks milling around. I got hit on twice, which is a nice compliment but kinda awkward too.
I turns out that my now-fixed Volvo drove well, but not well enough. So, my short dress and I ended up visiting MANY young guys in automotive businesses trying to get the car’s issues resolved. So, by now, half of northern California has seen my upper thighs.
Early this morning, to get to the bus, I had driven my little old BMW to downtown Reno and parked it close by the bus station, on 2nd street. By the time I got back to Reno, it was WAY later than I’d planned: after midnight. And, it was cold. As in teeth-chattering cold.
For reasons I won’t get into, the Volvo needs to stay in Reno, and there’s a good parking garage on 5th street. So, I parked it there. To get from 5th street to 2nd street, you have to cross … 4th street. In fact, to get from where the Volvo was parked to where the BMW was parked, a logical-seeming route took me along 4th street, and right by the Sands Casino.
Problem is: in Reno red-light district culture, if you have to choose ONE street for picking up a working girl (a.k.a. hooker) then 4th street is your best bet, and (no disrespect intended towards that fine establishment) if you had to pick ONE casino resort, it’d be the Sands. (Also, no disrespect intended towards that profession.)
So, let’s re-cap. It’s after midnight, in downtown Reno. And, here, walking the streets is a tall transgender blonde with huge, fake boobs, bare legs and a super-short dress. She’s walking around in 45 degree weather, and she’s doing it along 4th street and past the Sands … not subtle.
I wasn’t even trying to turn tricks. I was just walking to where my little old BMW was parked. However, I’m sure it looked like something very different was going on.
Ironically, while I was on 4th street, a Reno Police car drove by and stopped by (oh, more irony) the same red light where I was standing. It was a red traffic light, but … still. Red light.
The officer was probably thinking “you can’t make this stuff up” and, to my relief, didn’t arrest me for being a blatant cliche.
I have to confess that I have fantasized many times about being a working girl, but this acting-out event was the result of pure bad planning … though Sigmund Freud might have argued that subconsciously, I masterminded it all brilliantly. Maybe he’d have been right.
This means I can explain today with two very different possibilities. I was either super-ditzy or deeply brilliant.