The Power of Positive Attitude

Under the Bridge, Pam, who went by the professional name Roxy — although no John had ever called her that or even actually asked — had crafted her own small haven beneath the overpass. Her mattress, a thin barrier between her and the cold, hard ground, bore witness to her eclectic taste in fabrics. This setup was also an opportunity to inject a bit of joy and personality into her workspace. Each piece woven into her bedroll told a unique story: a thrift store’s floral print scarf, a brightly colored but threadbare blanket found abandoned on a street corner. These fabrics, meticulously arranged, represented her defiance against the bleakness of her surroundings. Alongside them lay a stapler, as if she might need to staple a receipt onto something someday for her customers’ travel expense accounts. “Preparedness pays,” she thought to herself. It also served as a reminder of a past woven from days that were less lucrative but more demeaning than her life today. Those were days not without some pleasant memories, yet working in a cubicle was too soul-crushing to continue with. She had broken free and vowed never to return to that degrading drudgery ever again.

Under the bridge, Roxy’s space was distinctly her own, albeit fashioned from the scraps of society, much like herself. In the cavernous, cold, and impersonal underpass, her corner stood out, radiating a sense of warmth. Amidst her makeshift bed, Roxy arranged a collection of personal treasures — a battered paperback, a mug chipped yet adorned with wildflowers, and a weathered photograph in a small frame. Each item, carefully positioned within her line of sight, breathed life into her space, transforming it into an oasis brimming with personality and comfort. This starkly contrasted with the transient and often grim nature of her work days and nights under the bridge. Roxy, or Pam, diligently tackled the clutter, determined to keep her area not just tidy, but bright and uplifting.

Among the other working girls, Roxy had secretly earned the nickname “Julia Roberts.” Unlike the others, she refused to settle for flattened cardboard boxes as her working arrangement. “Like she was something fucking special!” they thought. Her high standards and the air of regality she carried earned her the moniker “Her Highness.” However, the strict social norms and the rigidly enforced professional ethics of their profession kept this as a whispered secret, despite the subtle insult the others felt at her attitude. No one wanted to be hauled up in front of the gleaming straight razor of the Human Resources whore. The justice of the Human Resources whore was swift and operated on a simple calculation: In inter-employee disputes, she would “side with the bitch who earns.”

Being called a “resource” made Roxy feel special. After all, natural resources were acquired at great expense, and miners died in deplorable and unsafe working conditions to extract them from the Earth. This made her feel like a precious little gem, to be considered so vital to profit. Men paid her for her skill; what more tangible affirmation of her self-worth could she ask for?

Roxy had once broached the subject of her working conditions with her “professional manager,” LaRoyalton, who insisted on being called King Cobra. With his usual paternal and nurturing demeanor and highlighting the nuances of their relationship and the power dynamics at play, he explained that financial constraints within the enterprise’s budget made it impossible to enhance her working environment at the company’s expense. However, he added that she was free to explore her own options, “on her own goddamned fucking time.”

In the past, the trailblazing pioneers of Roxy’s profession operated in company-provided whorehouses, a system now viewed as antiquated. Nowadays, this model had shifted towards a remote work-from-home approach, where each girl was responsible for providing her own personal whorehouse at her own expense. This newfound freedom, albeit heavy with its own costs, was a dream that kept Roxy on her toes, on her back, or on her knees under the overpass.

Their professional spaces often left little room for expressions of individuality. However, Roxy’s defiance and her ability to carve out a niche of self-expression and personal identity inspired her fellow working girls. “Maybe a cat poster would brighten your circumstances”, she advised.

King Cobra gathered all the “employee-owners” for a staff meeting to announce the new corporate wellness initiatives. Foremost among these was a generous breast augmentation reimbursement program. The summation being that “great big ol’ titties” would attract more traffic. More voluminous bosoms would thereby produce a larger volume of work and, consequently, more profit for him. Following his announcement, he distributed, “refreshments” in the breakroom – a space that once was just a burnt-out van but, thanks to Roxy’s transformative touch, had become a cozy area for their “breaktimes.”

After enjoying the “donuts,” the team-building exercise commenced. The girls were tasked with persuading the junkies to relocate to the other side of the overpass, a challenging but necessary endeavor for maintaining their working space.

As Roxy toiled on brightening her workspace and attitude, the other whores began to take notice. Their usual rhythm momentarily ceased; curious heads ceased their bobbing and popped over the concrete barriers, eyes widening at the transformation and lucrative tricks unfolding on Roxy’s mattress.

“Wow, Roxy, what’s all this?” asked Cinnamon, her eyes landing on the small lamp Roxy had just placed near her mattress. It cast a warm, red, inviting glow, a stark difference from the harsh streetlights that dimly lit their shared hellhole. “Just trying to brighten things up a bit,” Roxy replied with a smile that beamed with pride. 

The other girls often marveled at how she could maintain such a cheery disposition “Remember”  Roxy would share her profound philosophy, “Having a cheery disposition and a positive attitude can make all the difference when you’re getting slammed by some fat guy for money.” They were her armor against the dullness of her job, a job she kept out of necessity, not passion. “Needing the money keeps me focused on my work,” she often reminded the other hookers. 

“True dat!” interjected Wanda, who had been listening to the side. “Since you told me about the power of positive thinking, my earnings have increased substantially.” “I just think to myself, ‘Blowing this random dude for money is way better than working in a cubicle’.” “That’s the spirit,” Roxy said to Wanda, giving her a pat of encouragement. “Reading, ‘The Secret’ by Rhonda Byrne really was life-altering. Money, health, relationships, happiness, everything. I have it all now!”

King Cobra, had recently presented her with a gift he felt was particularly thoughtful: a well-thumbed copy of “QBQ! The Question Behind the Question” by John G. Miller. The book, with its focus on personal accountability and changing one’s own world, resonated with Roxy. It was a clear message from King Cobra – the power to transform her circumstances lay within her own hands, not with anyone else, certainly not in his hands.

This new perspective shifted Roxy’s outlook. Rather than dwelling on the “why”, “when”, or “who” that so often mired her in frustration, she began to ask herself different questions. “What can I do to make this dude pay me more money for sex?” or “How can I increase my earnings for King, even though he still don’t do shit?” These questions, rooted in personal agency, and drawn from the pages of this trite drivel, steered her away from victimhood and towards a more proactive stance in her life and work.

The book became another treasure in her small haven under the bridge, a token of a turning point in her thinking. It wasn’t just about surviving anymore; it was about thriving, about seizing control and penises in a life where so much was beyond her control. Roxy started to see possibilities where she had once seen dead ends… and penises.

King Cobra’s gift had unexpectedly opened a door for her, a door to a mindset that championed self-empowerment and responsibility. It echoed the transformation she had already begun in her physical space, now extending into her approach to work and life. Roxy, with her newfound questions, was not just changing her space; she was changing her destiny.

Her enthusiasm was as infectious as her STDs. Soon, others started asking for tips, wondering how they too could revitalize their own workspaces and work lives. Roxy was more than happy to share her ideas, from using vertical storage solutions to maximizing a small space to adding personal touches like framed photos and handcrafted items. Even the rats seemed to take notice and scurry with newfound determination and purpose. Yet, there was always a negotiation, a subtle dance around the value of her services versus the cost. And Roxy reminded the ladies, “Always get the money upfront.” 

As the sun rose and night drew to a close, Pam, I mean Roxy, laid back on her mattress, satisfaction washing over her. Her mattress, once a mirror of her job’s monotony, now reflected her personality – vibrant, organized, and full of life, rancid human grease, and lice. She had not only changed her space but had also begun to inspire a wave of positivity and creativity in those around her.

Roxy’s story was just beginning. She had taken the first step in transforming not just her workspace but her outlook on her job. Who knew what possibilities lay ahead? She knew they would be good ones, just as long as those possibilities weren’t in a cubicle.