The Wild World of PSO Drama
I posted an ad this month to hire new operators — and oh boy, that always brings the assholes out of the woodwork. Every single time. This round, I got an email from another PSO, someone who’s been around for years, and she came at me swinging. No greeting, no professional courtesy — just accusations and weird hostility because she “didn’t like” my website.
And I wish I could tell you this was unusual, but it’s not. Being in this industry long enough, you learn that some women will invent entire stories in their heads about you and then act on them like it’s gospel. It’s like getting jumped into a fight you never signed up for.
Here’s the thing about being a phone sex operator: it’s a weird, lonely little universe. You work alone. Most of your interactions are with male clients, not other women in the same field. Unless you’re lucky enough to find real, grounded friends in the business, it can get isolating — and honestly, competitive as hell.
I’m lucky. I’ve got two solid women friends in this industry who are both long-time owners, smart as hell, and actually professional. We’ve known each other for years, and I trust them. But beyond that? I keep to myself. I have a full, normal life outside of work, and I don’t need to play “industry bestie” with people who see every other woman as competition.
I don’t stalk other operators’ websites, and I don’t copy anyone’s ideas. Not because I’m some saint — because I genuinely don’t care. I’m a researcher at heart; I’d rather study markets, track trends, and improve what I already do. Comparing yourself constantly to others is high school energy, and I graduated from that mindset a long time ago.
So, back to the email — this woman basically challenged me to a money duel. She bragged about how she makes “way more” than I do, like we were two pirates comparing treasure chests. I almost replied, “Cool, wanna swap tax returns and see?” But I didn’t. Because I don’t need to prove anything. Instead, I decided to write this post and move on.
To me, that kind of behavior screams insecurity. If you’re happy, you don’t need to tear someone else down. The truth is, I’m doing fine — actually, better than fine. I make a comfortable living, I own my home, I’ve remodeled my kitchen, I have a nice car, a closet full of clothes, more makeup than I’ll ever use, and weekends off. I can travel when I want. I pay someone to mow my grass. I’m not struggling, I’m not greedy, and I’m not trying to out-earn anyone.
My definition of success is simple: my bills are paid, my stress is low, and my life feels balanced. I’m proud of that. I measure my progress by comparing me to me — last month, last year, last goal — not anyone else.
So when a woman in the same industry comes at me, unprovoked, bragging about how much more she supposedly makes, I see her for what she is: insecure, bitter, maybe lonely, probably unhappy, and definitely projecting. It’s not confidence. It’s a cry for help in a sexy outfit.
I’ll never understand that kind of energy. Competing with strangers for imaginary trophies is exhausting and pointless. I hope she gets whatever help she needs, because that level of anger and envy isn’t about me — it’s about something broken inside her.
I’m happy, successful by my own standards, and building the kind of life I actually enjoy. If that pisses someone off, that’s on them.
