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Big Bass Floats My Boat Slot
I spent two years sleeping with lorry drivers for money. I’ve had enough. Hi everyone. My name’s Sophie Bennett, I’m 26. I grew up in a small town in the West Midlands. When I was 24, I realised that if I stayed there, I’d spend my whole life jumping from one low-paid job to another, watching the best years of my life pass me by. So I packed my things and moved to London. My mum gave me the last £1,500 she had. “Just to get you started,” she said. “Please don’t come back after a month.” I rented a tiny room on the outskirts of London for £850 a month and started sending out CVs. The replies were always the same: minimum wage, temporary contracts, or jobs where there was barely anything left after rent and travel. I did my food shopping at Aldi, counted every bus and Tube journey, and tried not to spend money on anything I didn’t absolutely need. After two months, I had less than £100 left in my bank account. My rent was due in a week. I was sitting on the floor of my tiny kitchen, and for the first time in my life, I was genuinely scared. A girl I knew who’d been living in London for a few years finally said to me: “There’s one option. Quick money. But it’s not easy. A roadside motel near the motorway where lorry drivers stop.” I sat there in silence for a long time. Then I just nodded. The first night was a nightmare. I sat in that room with my hands shaking, my heart pounding so hard it felt like someone outside could hear it. But the money came through. Then it came again. After a few weeks, I knew exactly how many nights I needed to work to cover my rent, food and put a little bit aside. On average, I was making around £1,500–£1,900 a month when I worked practically every day. I lasted almost two years. During that time, I learned not to look people in the eyes. I learned not to listen to what they were saying. I learned how to smile even when everything inside me was screaming. But my self-respect slowly disappeared. All that was left
