A reality somewhat-star is seated on a busy Sunday night.
As a pastor on Oxygen Network’s series The Preachers of Detroit, his particular televised rant is that all the other cast mates spend way too much money on women.
And yet, here he is with an obnoxiously drunk and loud one.
This time though, adultery is amusing because this nonchalant act of pretense isn’t swagger, it’s schadenfreude.
Everyone is laughing.
From the maitre d’ to the matronly grandma at table 57, we all know she’s not his wife, we all know she’s not his mistress and we all know he’s definitely paying for it.
Adding to the many stones already being thrown, I whisper to my manager, “You know, Jesus hung out with prostitutes too – he just didn’t fuck ‘em.”
A server walking past overhears and starts laughing too.
Just then, a man comes up and puts a hundred dollar bill in my jar. He requests Piano Man. A song I never ever play because I hate it that much. This time though, I obviously cannot refuse.
As I start, I glance across the room and lock eyes with the pastor.
He smiles and nods.
Each of us whores in our own special way.