SIDE GIG
Short story by Andrea Holck
Illustration by Esther LalanneA woman with an internet connection can find financial redemption at almost any time.
I, a woman, an artist, do not have the energy resources for a full-time job. I do part-time
work in a library shelving books and such, but the pay is not enough to cover the rent for
my studio. So when money is tight (which is all the fucking time) I take on additional
work. I find it mostly on Craigslist. Mostly using the library computer, and mostly during
my working hours. It's not because I don’t have a phone, I do. It’s just that the job’s not
exactly titillating, so I make up chores to do on the computer when what I’m really doing
is getting paid to look for other ways to get paid.
I’m not really an artist. I only said that to make my situation sound nobler. I do paint
walls in colours with names like aubergine and breath, which is something I recently did
for cash. I also don’t have an actual studio, unless you count the single room I rent from a
sad empty-nester. The rest is mostly true.
The thing is, I don’t have any specific skills to market, so I mostly respond to ads. I’m
no idiot, I just always liked the artsy classes in school, which doesn’t turn out to be a
predilection society is that into, fiscally speaking.
So I find this ad that says:
Got feet? Will pay.
I know right away it’s a sex thing, so I sit on it for a while. I’ve done some weird shit for
cash, but never sex stuff. Not yet. Safety, you know. But I decide to dangle a carrot. My
response is: Have feet, will travel.
The answer immediately arrives: Four pm, 28 Winchester Blvd, Apartment Six. £
cash. Extra for no active participation.
Cryptic. Whoever it is seems confident I’ll know what the fuck they’re talking about.
Four pm seems safe so I send a thumbs up.
I spend the rest of my shift imagining possible scenarios. A poorly-groomed socially
inept reprobate, probably taking a break from playing Fortnite. Or maybe unkempt and
hungover? He’ll open the door and I’ll say something like “Hey.” I should be chewing
gum to add to the breezy nonchalance I’ll be emitting. I’ll push past him as he holds the
door open, rolling my eyes and taking a seat on his ratty couch. Kick off my leather ballet
flats, which I’ll already be wearing without socks. Taking off a sock seems wrong when I
play it in my mind.
He’ll kneel before me, take my foot in his hand, probably sniff it or something. I