Pimp Jerk

A rough looking black man in yesterday's clothes opened the back door and let the pale, pigtailed woman climb in ahead of him. I knew right away they had a business relationship.

It was not the first time I had a prostitute and her pimp in my car. They aren't as easy to spot as you may believe, at least not in Peoria. We don't have guys walking around in five inch platforms, and psychadelic sports coats, carrying canes.

"Hey, what up young blood?" he asked enthusiastically.
"Not shit, how you doin?" I responded.
"Good, good, good, good, good. Chillin. Shit. Don't I know you man? You look familiar, aint we had you before." I glanced at him in the rear view mirror, but I didn't expect to recognize him.

"Nah man, I don't think so." I've learned not to be overly friendly with the pimps, drug dealers, and hustlers who seem all to eager to befriend a total stranger. Everyone is looking for an angle.
"Yeah maybe not. You new ain't you?" he asked.
"I've been around a little while."

The ambiguous small talk continued like a friendly game of chess until it centered around the oldies station playing in the background.

"I really like your music," the girl said. "Not like all those other guys, listenin to that metal or classical. Seems like that's all you cabbies listen to. And talk radio-oh god."
"Yeah-yeah-shit. Not this cab though. Nah-uh, got this good shit here, boy," he said to clarify that it was a compliment.
"No, your music is great," she said, since it clearly hadn't gotten through the first time. But I did appreciate it. They sang along with The Capitals.

We know a cat who can really do the Cool Jerk
We know a cat who can really do the Cool Jerk

They might have been hoping for a deal on the next ride. Some people always want something for free. Others want to barter with whatever it is they're pushing. Yet, I felt compelled to indulge them anyway. They were friendly, and they made an effort. What more can you ask of people really?

A relevant piece of trivia floated to the surface of my mind and without considering the context I said, "When this song first came out, it was originally called the Pimp Jerk..." I trailed off immediately, as I realized who I was talking to.

There was an awkward silence and the last two words seemed to linger somewhere between me and the backseat. I ignored the thought that I might get stabbed for upsetting a pimp's delicate sensibilities, and recovered the ball.

"You know, when everything was still considered too risque' for radio. The Pimp Jerk was a popular dance around Detroit at the time." Pimps are too cool for regular dancing, you see. It means a lot of movement, and sweating and they aint tryinta hear that shit, Jack. So the pimp jerk requires only the bare minimum of steady, cool jerking movement.

"Motown, hell yeah."
"Right on. Well they named the song after the dance but they couldn't say it on the radio, so they had to change it."

Neither of them seemed to like that. They were quiet as the song played over the noise of the early evening traffic.

"That's bullshit," he said.
"Hell yeah. It's just funny. You can get away with anything now." He laughed in agreement.

"They gonna act like it's a bad word," he said.
"I guess it used to be," I said sarcastically.
Pigtails looked to her pimp. "It never was."