Two days after interviewing for an accounting job at an adult video company, I walked down a long hallway lined with movie posters displaying voluptuous women enticing the viewer into the bedroom, beside the pool, and under the bleachers. All weekend I had been obsessing over this job. What would it be like working in the porn industry? Would I fit it?
I was a child of the sixties and no stranger to "free-love" and an occasional ménage-a-trois. But the only profits I gained from those experiences were some great memories. This was different. This was an establishment that sold sex.
Filled with jitters and questions, I passed an office where several women sat in front of computers. I heard one of them mention something about a "quick dick" and another complain the inventory for Swedish Erotic 12 was out of balance. A glance at the pictures tacked above their desks, told me they were both moms with preschool age children, just like me.
The door opened briefly as I passed the editing room and loud "ooh's" and "aahs" and shrieks of pleasure escaped into the hallway. As the door closed a bald headed guy, eating lunch from a paper bag, gave me a friendly wave. In Human Resources, a box of sex toys sat on a shelf next to a photo of a boy in a cap and gown.
Once in my office, I looked around. An ordinary desk. An ordinary chair. An ordinary phone. I didn't know what I was expecting, but certainly not what happened next.
Behind my desk stood a very large file cabinet. I began searching through the files in order to get a feel for the job. Leaving it open, I pulled out the second drawer. I then turned around and wham! I found myself pinned between my desk and the cabinet, absolutely clueless to the cause of my demise.
So, I did what any working girl would do and started screaming. And screaming. Could no one hear me over the pleasurable moans emitting from the editing room? Or had only a few seconds actually passed when the first co-worker appeared at my office door?
"Oh my god!" A female shouted. "Are you okay?"
"What's going on?" the next person to arrive asked.
"Voice over try outs," someone else said.
Once the cabinet was pulled off my back, I started laughing. How could I not? Other than a minor backache, I was perfectly fine and how ditzy of me not to realize you cannot open the top drawers of a large piece of furniture and expect it to remain upright.
After regaining my composure another co worker came barging into my office. "So, I hear you like it from behind."
Once again, laughter erupted. In that moment I realized that, yes, sex was a serious business when it came to the debits and credits, but just like every other industry, there would be inside jokes.
As I stared at the people who had come to my rescue, all my doubts and worries disappeared. I realized they were ordinary people. From the warehouse guy who shipped porn around the country, to the director who choreographed the climax scenes, to the administrative assistant who made sure there was always a pot of coffee in the kitchen, they were all just men and women trying to put food on the table, pay the rent, put their children through college.
Once I regained my composure, I placed a photo of my daughter and husband on my desk. With my first paycheck, I decided to take my family out to dinner. And buy some of those intriguing rooster-headed condoms I saw during my tour of the warehouse.
This blog originally appeared In The Powder Room.
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