"No wonder she's making such a big deal out of it. Scared it'll hurt business?"
"Eight hundred a night? That cheap? She probably has something."
I didn't know any of these people. I had never set foot in a massage parlor in my life.
I was just an office clerk. Ordinary. Overtime every week. I rode a motorcycle because morning traffic was hell and it was the only way I'd make it on time.
None of that mattered.
I posted my employee ID in the comments.
The response:
"Photoshopped. What hooker doesn't have a fake ID?"
I left comment after comment pushing back.
They vanished—drowned instantly, gone without a trace—and the only thing they brought was more abuse.
Other women threw themselves into the fight for me, reporting posts, shouting back in the replies.
But the people coming after me kept multiplying, wave after wave, flooding in from every direction, and there was no stopping it.
A blogger with hundreds of thousands of followers saw his opening and grabbed it, stoking the pile-on for clout: