I'm sure this is how the first prostitute began as well, probably.
After being led down to what could best be described as THE BASEMENT OF DEATH, he revealed a tiny (very, very tiny) corner that had been carved out from the mountains of boxes and clutter . . . and saws and other electric tools that could have cut through a human body like butter.
I knew from the moment he first opened the door that he was harmless, but considering a guy I went to high school with was just murdered by someone he met off Kijiji, I couldn't help but get crazy, awful thoughts racing through my mind.
Stranger, danger and all that.
Anyway, once we got settled in the claustrophobic work space, he began walking me through his dozens upon dozens of dusty "get rich on the internet" schemes, binders, videos and products that he had bought into, and it exhausted me.
He was full of quotable quotes and deep thought observations which I'm sure I've seen all of them assaulting my Facebook feed at one time or another . . . in Papyrus font and pasted on top of filtered sunset photos, of course.
Then he hit me with the golden tuna of sayings: "Your true wealth can only be measured once you've lost all your money."
And I gave him a raised eyebrow, nodding expression as to politely acknowledge the "wisdom" he was attempting to share with me.
"Do you know what that means?" As if he mistook my expression for one of confusion, and he continued to explain, "It's about your family; your children. How much are your children worth?"
"I dunno. How much do you think I could get for them?" I smiled.
He didn't smile back. "THEY ARE PRICELESS."
Oh yeah, right.
Obviously, my humor wasn't appreciated, so we cut short the chit chat and got down to work . . . showing him how to write a blog and make his millions.
LAUGH. OUT. LOUD.
That will be one hundred dollars, thanks.
