entry #2
April 11, 1997
The past few weeks of volunteer service at the health center were pretty monotonous. I spent most of the time making copies of the newsletter, stuffing envelopes, and sitting in on hotline calls. One exception, however, was the creation of The Dick Game. Kim thought up a game using a board, much like the one used in Twister, with a few exceptions. Instead of options like left hand green or right hand blue, our board will feature questions regarding STD. Rather than flicking a boring plastic spinner, the ladies will determine which question they will have to answer by spinning, what else? A penis. Not just any penis. This one will be black, white, red, yellow, and brown to represent various ethnic backgrounds. This is to illustrate the fact that STD are indiscriminate, and therefore, may be transmitted through sexual intercourse with customers, who are predominantly Asian or Caucasian, as well as pimps, many of whom are African-American.
The week before Spring Break, Jamie, my fellow volunteer and I had the task of making up questions to put on the game board. There were a few easy ones, which asked such things as the Condom Lady's real name and the phone number of the Waikiki Health Center (which is printed on every edition of the newsletter). Most of the questions pertained to STD signs and symptoms, and the methods of preventing the spread of STD. However, these are not questions you would find in any textbook or medical journal. We were told to use street language to make it easier and more fun for the prostitutes. These questions were full of obscenities and sexual colloquialisms, not to mention a whole slew of genital synonyms. I had never even heard of some of them. It was pretty funny. Growing up as a foul-mouthed little kid with two older brothers really came in handy after all.
I went out on the track twice since I wrote my last paper, and just as Kim and Paul had explained to me, each time was different. Kim had gone to a conference on prostitution in Los Angeles, so it was just Paul, Irene, and me. We met up at the usual meeting place around 10:00pm and proceeded to pass out condoms and snacks to the ladies. Most of them just grabbed the condoms and left, saying little more than a quick hello. I don't know if Kim's absence had anything to do with their behavior. The ladies seemed frustrated and edgy, perhaps because business was really slow and no one could find a date. That night seemed to drag on forever even though we were only out for less than three hours.
The following week Kim was back, and this seemed to make all the difference in the world. The prostitutes were much friendlier and more talkative. I really had a good time talking and hanging out with them. I even got a chance to share some of the knowledge I acquired from microbiology class and volunteering at the health center. In my conversation with one of the hookers, she mentioned that she thought she might have chlamydia. I was more than happy to list the symptoms of the disease, and I also encouraged her to visit the clinic to get tested. She seemed genuinely grateful, and I finally felt the satisfaction of being of service to someone. Though it was just a tidbit of STD information, I was able to help someone in a small way, and it felt good.
Later that night I got my first look at a real-live pimp. He looked exactly as I had imagined. He was wearing a silk shirt opened almost to his navel, neatly pressed pants, alligator shoes, dark glasses, and way too much gold. His hair was slicked back and he was leaning against his brand new Mercedes Benz, talking on a cellular phone. I think if you looked up the word "pimp" in the dictionary, this guy's picture would be there. I could not stop staring at him. One word came to mind: parasite. I wondered how many times his "girl" had to give up her body, along with her dignity, to pay for that car, and those shoes, and all his tacky jewelry. I was disgusted. While I had not one ounce of respect for this man, his girl talked about him like he was her high school sweetheart. She was very proud of her new tattoo, a heart with his initials in it. I thought this girl would feel hatred for her pimp and be sickened at the mere mention of his name, but instead, it was almost like she was in love with him. I had read about this in an article on prostitution, but to actually witness it was another thing. I couldn't understand how someone could be so oblivious to such blatant exploitation. Surely she realized that while her pimp did nothing but cruise around in his Mercedes all night, she walked the streets in 3-inch heels carrying barely enough money to buy a meal at a fast food restaurant.
Though I was frustrated after seeing the pimp, I still went home feeling good about helping someone possibly avoid the detrimental long-term effects of an untreated STD. This week I'll be doing more work on The Dick Game, so hopefully we'll be able to take it out on the track next week and educate the hookers on STD. That should be a pretty interesting night.