At dinner last night I thought about taking photos of our meal before remembering that a client once told me how much he liked that I rarely did so.
“These girls, they all want a photo of everything. It didn’t used to be like that.” Lifting his fork, he gestured towards me, “That’s what I like about you. You don’t waste all of your time online. You’ve got a life outside of this.”
Before I could respond, the waiter approached our table to ask if we needed anything. He’d been attentive and intuitive throughout dinner, hopefully understanding that the smile I threw his way was both a pre-emptive warning and an apology.
It’s a smile that gets a lot of use when I’m out with a client who is used to paying for silence and acquiescence.
When the waiter was far enough away to miss the switch, I turned to my client wearing a different smile. “Some people love being online, but it’s so draining, right?” He nodded and grunted approvingly before taking another bite of his fish.
Regardless of the ramifications, a part of me wanted to break the fantasy and tell him that I do, in fact, waste all of my time online. But it didn’t matter because his comment wasn’t really about me.
He simply can't imagine that all of us have a life outside of our work because he doesn’t think of what we do as work.
Instead, he tells himself that all of the young women he’s fucking are online for fun, not marketing, because it is easier to think that we are silly, simple and unprofessional than it is to acknowledge that he’s been sold a fantasy.
Except for me, of course, because he has to see one of us as the foil. Someone has to be real. Someone has to let him believe that this isn’t just about trips, money and Michelin stars because what he really wants is affirmation that he is wanted.
I took a sip of water and let my gaze drift towards the window, “Maybe it’s just me, but I’d rather be outside.”
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