I know what you’re thinking, and yes, this is a true story.

I spent the last week and a half meeting with potential clients and exploring future living arrangements in Los Angeles. I am planning to base myself down there over the summer, preferably in one of the beach towns.

On the second to last day, a friend discovered an advert for a therapist who needed an editor for the copy from her HBO television show and the marketing material, in exchange for a living space. The advert boasted an amazing deal where in exchange for some part-time editing work we would receive the following:

“In exchange for your part-time work, we will give you room and board in the spacious penthouse loft, including your own private room, DSL, phone, maid service, tech support, bar and kitchen access, gourmet home-cooked meals, recording studio, erotic art gallery, awesome eclectic ambience, and 14,000 square feet of space to work and play in (basically, $2000/month worth of room, board & amenities).”

We had visions of living in a mansion in Beverly Hills, cute gardeners and pool boys gallivanting outside in the perfectly manicured lawns and being fed wild rice, salmon and salad dishes by an exquisite chef who caters to our every whim. We giggled at the possibility of accidentally stumbling upon a 50 Shades of Grey-style Red Room of Pain, amongst the many rooms of this enormous penthouse loft. It was almost a dream come true; a place to base ourselves in L.A. just as we wanted.

Excitedly, we responded to the ad and asked to meet with the therapist and discuss the opportunity further. Within a few hours, we heard a response and were invited to come and meet at the studio downtown, where the show was being filmed, and the next day we were cruising down the Santa Monica freeway towards the downtown address we were given.

We arrived in a parking lot surrounded by several worn-down warehouses and called reception to find out how to enter the building. Four sets of stairs to the top of the building later, we were met by a small, chubby lesbian woman (as we discovered later) who has been expecting us. We are led inside and told to go make ourselves comfortable by the bar while she goes off to do something.

Our mouths are agape as we take in our surroundings. The inside of the building is as equally rundown as the outside. There are red velvet curtains as well as dusty, cheap chandeliers hanging from the ceilings all over the place. Different coloured animal print carpets are layered across various floors and there’s a sign on the baby grand piano which reads “If you place your drink on this piano we will cut your balls and/or boobs off and feed them to the wolves!”.

The bar area is dirty and dingy, and across the room, there are several cages and strange contraptions which I can only assume are for some kind of kinky experiments. Of course, this is only the studio, we agree, even though it certainly isn’t reflecting the pristine, white environment of our imaginations.

The short, chubby receptionist returns and asks us, “So what: are you lovers? Sister? Friends? Cause ya, know, whatever, it’s cool.” We explain that we work together and have come to find out more about the editor position. She looks at us curiously with a raised eyebrow and then continues to show us around the massive 14,000 square foot warehouse space, full of hidden rooms, some with people in them, others bare with strange contraptions in them, or desks for office space.

She continues explaining the position and what it would entail, as well as what the TV show is like. “The show gets filmed every Saturday night; we usually interview porn stars and hope that there’s at least some sex that happens on stage. It doesn’t always, but there is usually sex about 90% of the time.” Then she goes on to say “You have to be quite open-minded. Not a week has gone by where I haven’t been shocked about what goes on here. There are some pretty weird and sick people out there!”

This is clearly not exactly what we had expected. Not that we came with expectations. But we did assume that things would be a little more…. normal… for lack of better words. Then finally, as she showed us another bedroom, it dawned on us. We would essentially be expected to live here, in the midst of this brothel-feeling-sex-dungeon on the fourth floor of a crumbling warehouse building in the dodgy downtown L.A. Not that there’s anything wrong with that! But it’s not exactly what we had in mind for ourselves.

As the tour of this unexpected sex den came to a close, we quickly said our goodbyes and said that we would think it over, followed by a less-than-subtle exit as we essentially flung ourselves down the stairs and out the door back to the car.

No. No. No. No. No. This was definitely not for us. We drove off feeling rather shell-shocked and disturbed about one of the darker sides of life we had just witnessed and had the opportunity to potentially become a part of. We drove out of L.A. in silence until we had recovered our wits enough to discuss all the details of this adventure we had just encountered.

Had we almost become editors for a “therapist” who essentially was filming porn in a run-down warehouse? Yes. And no. Because it simply wasn’t in tune with where we are at in our lives. Is this a great story to laugh about and re-tell forever? Absolutely, yes! Ha ha!