I came straight from Ghana to sunny Miami for College. So when I moved to Boston last year, winter was something new to me, despite having lived eight years in the U.S.
In November I called one of my boys in the lower latitudes, lamenting how cold it was getting and how I did not know how I was going to cope with it.
First, he suggested I get a girlfriend. I told him I didn’t want no drama. So he suggested I get a dog. I told him that they frown on that at Harvard. In fact, I had to remind him such practice is illegal in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, and I cursed him for even suggesting that stuff. But, alas, I had misinterpreted his words.
Then came February. O how cold it got! And there I was: cold, lonely, no girl, no dog, wishing I had taken my boy’s advice to…eerm…get a girl. One particularly cold night I ventured to take advantage of a service which I had previously hesitated to take advantage of. When I first started seeing postings for Campus Escort Service I remember thinking “they must really do something about college tuition if this is what it’s come down to.” I swore never to use this immoral service. But my moral opposition fell with the temperature. This particular night was 23 degrees F, people. Cold. So I figured, well, if the school permits this service it’s got to be legal in the state, right? And if it’s legal, it’s got to be morally defensible, right? In fact, I thought it was quite thoughtful of the school to recognize the needs of students under these harsh circumstances. I blessed John Harvard’s soul for his vision, blah blah blah.
Long story short, I called the number. I’m embarrassed to admit it but I did. I swear it was the first and, as will soon become evident, the last time. As the phone rang, I contemplated my decision and all the things that could go wrong. Well, I did not have to think for long because I was rudely shocked by the voice of what was apparently a gruff, hardworking man in his forties on the other end. I cross-checked the number to make sure I had indeed called the Harvard Escort Services. He said I had. Well, I put in my request anyway: “Need an escort at 36 Oxford Street.” My surprise to hear a man’s voice on the other end of the phone was nothing compared to my trepidation when I realized that my escort was a two-hundred-and-something-pound man called Joe. The rest of the story is unnecessary.
Well, the last part of the story has been embellished somewhat but the moral of the story remains: Harvard Escort Service is not really an escort service. So, gentlemen, if you’ve been waiting for the temperature to drop below 40 as an excuse to call them, reconsider.
