This guy lurks outside strip clubs in his cab, waiting for dancers, who, he says, are good tippers. It’s the natural order; strippers are just rolling in the dough made possible by their empowerfulment, and the rape economy is trickle-down.
He’s a night cabbie, which means he runs into a lot of colorful characters, so he’s got a slice-of-life column at Willamette Week Online. Night Cabbie gives a short account of his fare, one of the prostituted women he looks forward to separating from her money. She reveals to him how empowerfulizing it is to work in a brothel.
There’s a pole and a stage, but the real business is shows. Men pay $150, and they go in a room with the girls with a couch, a towel, and speakers playing the country music from the main room. And they have sex with the girls. The girl gets $100, the club gets $50. But some girls will fuck for less, meaning the others get less business.”
Night Cabbie’s fare admits that she has “morals,” and so hasn’t been making much dough lately.
This is when Night Cabbie begins to perceive that the hooker has a heart-o-gold, begins to entertain romantic notions about saving her. He thinks she has “so many other options.” He wants to extend, on behalf of the dominant culture, the invitation to move into the Big House. This is because Night Cabbie finds her “reasonable and perceptive.”
Whereas (the cultural narrative goes) some women, those who may not be reasonable or perceptive or otherwise deemed by the oppressor worthy enough to be exempt from servicing rapists, just belong to the slut class.
UPDATE: I am informed that Night Cabbie is a woman. I still say P.U.
UPDATE 2: Now I am informed that the old Night Cabbie was a woman, but that the new Night Cabbie is a dude. And I still say P.U.