So I work at a talent agency in Gaithersburg. “Wow, talent agency, fancy stuff, Shea.” Stop it. Stop it right now. Don’t be like that. I wear business clothes, drink water and shake a lot of hands. It’s not fancy. I just shake A LOT of hands.

So I’m working at my job taking clients into an office like I do for 8 hours straight over and over again offering them the opportunity to join a website called Project Reality to self-promote their abilities in the entertainment industry AND something extra out of the ordinary happens. That was a long sentence. Were you also winded after reading it?

Amanda Coop’s hand finds its way into mine. We lock eyes. It’s. Just as I always imagined it. This is the start of an incredibly awkward first meeting.

She’s 33, but she doesn’t look much past 24. Looks down at her watch, it’s already begun, there is no escaping.

“Hi Amanda! So what are you interested in? Singing? Dancing? Acting?”

“Voice overs.”

Of course. Remember Tooty from The Fairly OddParents? Meet Amanda Tooty Coop.

No, I’m lying; she’s not Tooty, but I could have been fooled. If she said that in a joke I wouldn’t have been laughing — I would have hugged her and made her fly me on her private jet to meet the real Timmy Turner. Then we would marry and I would duplicate his pink hat to drape on all four of our children. All. Named. Timmy.

“I’m interested in it all really, though. Anything. I love acting, dancing, singing.”

“Ok…good.”

“But you know, I’m also interested — wait, we’re not G in here right?”

“No…..”

“Oh good. Well, then I’ll just get it out there: pornos.”

“Amanda, we, uh, we are a company for children as well as adults. We don’t offer those types of opportunities.”

“I’m not shy; like, I know other girls have reservations, but I’m not shy.”

I wince. I don’t know what to say. I usually have a clever retort of some sort, but there is nothing coming to my mind other than, “Did you just ask me to help you star in a porno?” I love this job.

We move on. I change the subject to the website she should sign up for and tell her about the opportunities it offers her aside from what she wants to do (cringe). Then somehow — I never know how this happens — we get on another topic: cruises.

“I met this couple in Amsterdam when I went on a Royal Caribbean cruise. Best threesome I’ve ever had.”

Wut.

“The guy was in the military and the girl was a model, so you can only imagine how amazing that was. Best sex ever. Hands down.”

Goodness. Think, Shea, think. How do I…?

Laughing nervously, “So, Amanda, back to the website.”

I talk her through the sign up, and she agrees to sign up after my schpeel. Awesome. It’s been like 20 minutes. My manager is going to call me soon telling me to hurry up. I always do this. I think I get called almost every meeting. I just like talking. Well, most of the time. I’m doing a lot of listening in this one.

“Let me call my husband to get a credit card that way.”

“Oh, awesome, husband? What’s his name?”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I say husband but I actually mean wife. She’s just a super butch.”

Butch: stereotypically more masculine female in the relationship between two women.

Husband title, understandable.

“That’s awesome. I’m a really open-minded person, and I love when people talk about their relationships out in the open like this. Go you. Go society.”

“You’re an open person?”

“Yeah I consider myself to be very open.”

“…Maybe we could hook up sometime?”

“Uhm.” Immense laughter comes from both parties. Mine is a “holy mother of…” while hers is a “come on just say yes” giggle.

Her husband’s credit card doesn’t go through, so we say “oh no” and end the meeting. As I stand up to shake her hand again. (Told you I shake a lot of hands; that’s like, if I have 20 meetings a day with an average of three people in each meeting I’m shaking 60 hands to say hello and those 60 hands again to say goodbye. I touch 120 hands a day. Woah.)

So I stand up and shake her hand again and we both are laughing, and then she says, “So, Shea, I’m a masseuse.” (Please no, I think.) “And if you ever wanted me to make my way over to your house, I do in-calls and out-calls, so I could come over. I’m realllllllyyy good.” Followed by a wink.

“Uh, sure!” (I’m not.) “Write down your number for me.”

If I had said no we would have been standing there probably talking for the next 5 minutes about how I should just let her come over. It probably would have ended up with her attempting to give me a massage right there showing me her techniques, and the rest of the day I would have been attempting to forget yet another two hands touching my body. Hand count: 122.

She leaves the room.

NEXT!

Check out https://projectreality.com if you feel the need to know what it is.