Diana O. – Yaadinfo Contributor [ Website ]
In Colombia prostitution is legal. I came to find this out on a recent trip to Bogota. I happen to go to Bogota a lot because I like the layover, the breakfast is free and most excellent, plus the service is top notch at our crew hotel.
After we cleared customs control and had our bags screened (yet again), we piled into the van and departed from the El Dorado International airport. The bell hops attended to our luggage, brought them up the stairs and left them by the front desk for us. We checked in, got our room keys and were asking, “Who’s coming down for dinner and a night cap?”, when the first officer grinned widely and said, “Not me!” He placed his non-company issued briefcase on top of the table, pulls out a small wad of cash and continued: “I’d like some company tonight por favor.” Without hesitation the, desk clerk pulled out a folder of pictures, a whore catalog of sorts. He perused the photos, skipped a few pages then pointed to picture and said, “She’ll do.”
I did a double take. Did I just hear that right??? My eyes met the other flight attendant, F, and we both had a bewildered look on our faces. Our first officer ordered a prostitute as if he were ordering a burger well done with steak frites. Ok whatever. We all went up to our separate rooms. I pointed out to F that he had the room right next the first officer. “Aww shit!” he said in his Southern drawl, “They better be quiet.”
We did a quick change and met downstairs for dinner and drinks. Three of us (flight attendants) sat in a little corner watching MTV Latino and listening to Spanish rock as we peeled tangerines from the bar. In walked the first officer. He is an Italian American and he would fit in well on the set of the Sopranos or Goodfellas, take your favorite mob movie pick. He’s about six feet tall and he wore his hair slicked back with those corny little curls at the ends. Tonight he was wearing neatly pressed pants and a crisply pressed orange shirt and different shoes. I can respect a man, especially a pilot who takes the time to iron his layover clothes. I’m typically used to pilot layover uniform of crushed jeans and worn out polo shirt.
The third mischievous flight attendant, A, couldn’t help himself and asked, “So you’re having company tonight huh.” The first officer nodded, “Yes.” F, who’s still shocked at this point says, “How in the hell do you do that? I can’t imagine paying for it!” The first officer looked a little embarrassed as he stirred his vodka neat, but before he could respond, A interjected, “I don’t see anything wrong with that (chuckles). I did it when I was on vacation here.”
I took big sip of my wine and looked from left to right like I was at a tennis match and watched their exchange.
A, “The women here are hot and it’s legal so it’s no big deal.”
F, “Legality has nothing to do with morality! Plus it’s just nasty.”
First Officer, “She better be hot I’m telling you. I’m paying a lot of money for this.”
Just then a hotel employee walked up to the table. “Senor, la senorita esta acqui.” His companion had arrived. He excused himself to pay for her taxi and escorted her to his room.
I craned my neck to see what she looked like. Sure I’ve seen prostitutes before, but never in Colombia. The daggone stairs blocked my view of the elevator so I was only able to see the back of her red shirt. We then settled in and each had a delicious dinner.
The next morning at breakfast I was greeted by a full Colombian buffet. Sweet fresh fruits of papaya, pineapple and mangoes were on the table along with a variety of breads, sweet and artisan, fresh fruit juices, omelets made to order, coffee of all sorts including cappuccino and espresso and arepas. I ordered my omelet and was the last one to join my crew. We chit chatted about how we all slept at the high altitude of Bogota and mischievous A asked the first officer, “How was your night.” He hinted at the strong undercurrent of what we were all wondering. I whispered to F, “Did you hear them last night?” He shook his head, no.
The first officer responded, “It was great!”
” Yea I bet”, I thought.
When we reached the airport to fly back to the U.S F, took me aside and said in a loud whisper. “He did not have a great night. He told me that she stank, wouldn’t take a shower and looked ten years older than her picture in the catalog. He said he sent her away.”
“Did he pay?” I whispered back.
“He said he did ‘cause he didn’t want no problems.”
“How much?”
“$120.00 including her round trip taxi fare.”
Who said pimping was easy?
