Just Another Day at Work…

by Holly Randall from her blog http://hollyrandall.blogspot.com/

The other day, as I was cleaning up the makeup room in my studio, I was expecting one of two arrivals any minute now. It was either going to be my prop manager, returning with a bed for tomorrow’s shoot, or it was going to be a delivery guy with my lunch. Soon enough I heard the front door open, and I called out to ask who it was. There was no answer, so I figured it must be my prop guy and he was probably unloading at the front door. So I went back to what I was doing.

Suddenly I heard a noise at the entrance to the makeup room, and when I looked up I saw it was the delivery guy. He was holding my food and looking at me with a shocked expression. For a moment I couldn’t figure out why he looked so stunned, until I looked down and saw what I was holding in my hands. What I had been doing was cleaning an enormous rubber black dildo. Oh, right. I guess that’s not something this guy sees every day on his delivery route.

Sometimes I forget how bizarre my job really is. And because I’ve been working in porn for so long, and I’m so desensitized to it, I forget how it appears to the normal person, living outside my strange little world. When I get my car back from the valet, I can’t figure out why the guy handing me my keys is giving an odd look. It’s not until I get in my car and remember that I have a huge bag filled with strap-ons and lube in my backseat does it occur to me why he and his valet buddies are snickering at me. It’s the same thing with the guy at the carwash who found Anal Invaders #4 under my front seat, and placed it strategically on top of the seat. And when my drain clogs and the plumber has to come over to fix it, I have to remember that it’s not polite to leave my issues of Hustler and Nasty Housewives laying out on my coffee table. God only knows what my maid thinks of my massive porn collection I have stashed away in plain sight in my closet. And I know she’s seen it because she’s good enough to keep it dust-free.

I don’t really know what it’s like to have a life that doesn’t revolve around porn. Growing up as a child, my parents were pornographers, so it’s always been a part of my life. And even though they tried to keep work out of the house and out of my eyesight, they were always honest about their job. And I was painfully conscious about it because I had to lie to my friends and their parents about what my mom and dad did for a living. Sometimes, if they were really curious and kept pushing me to tell them about exactly what kind of photography my mom did, it became very difficult to keep the charade up.

And now that I work for my parents, I find myself still caught in those awkward situations. I’m not in the least bit ashamed of what I do, but sometimes I just don’t want to tell people what my job is, because then it will make me “that girl”. And sometimes I just want to be a normal person, not “that girl who works in porn”. And this is new to me, because now I’m not using my career as a springboard to instant popularity and interest. Before I began to develop a sense of self outside of my job description, I used my job as fodder for conversation and I let it define me as a person. But that’s not who I am. It’s simply what I do.

So if you ever meet in person, I think you’ll find out very quickly that I’m just your average run-of-the-mill American girl. I won’t try to get your girlfriend to pose for me, nor will I ask to see the size of your boyfriend’s cock. I don’t hang out with porn stars and I most certainly won’t be bringing them to your birthday party. I don’t want to talk about what Jenna Jameson is like in person, or what it was like having my birth announced (and a photo of me as a newborn) in the pages of Hustler magazine. And if you ever come across me with a large black dildo in my hands, don’t worry, I’m not going to try to use it on you. Unless you’re the delivery boy, and you’re late with my order.