As I was sitting here reflecting on my High School days, my thoughts turned to a very specific tradition we had. Often on a Friday night, before we retired to someone's house to hang out or watch a movie, we would head down to the sketchy part of Santa Barbara to find prostitutes. This somewhat rare profession was most easily found on East Haley Street after sunset, around 10 pm. Our side of the evening would follow like this:
A group of us, maybe four or so, would pile into someone's car and we would head down there. Since Haley is a one way street, we would start near State Street and crawl our way down the street. For some reason, they were always on the right side of the street, so we'd use the right lane. Slowing down at each street corner, the passengers would make the decision whether we had found our specimen or it was merely a slutty pedestrian.
After making a few trips down there, we became more adept at our hobby. They would generally be the stationary ladies found alone on street corners, although sometimes accompanied by a male. This was always exciting for us. To find a business proposition in action was quite a big deal. It was the frosting on our cake of immorality.
Yet as much hype and excitement we let build into these adventures, I can't help but think how pathetic the whole situation was. The most it would ever result in was a car full of screaming, enthusiastic teenagers pointing at a human demoralized to a body. It was a sad, sad scene, but I would totally go do it again. After all, it's the world's oldest profession, and with a title like that, there has to be some dignity involved.
