A little more than three years ago, co-worker Andy Tarnoff and I went "undercover" with the Milwaukee Police Department vice squad in search of prostitutes and their customers. It was an eye-opening experience and it led to what we humbly think was a very interesting story.

Last week, I stumbled upon another interesting story.

I was walking on 3rd Street near Kilbourn Avenue, heading to the Bradley Center to cover a Bucks game, when I saw a young woman walking toward me on the sidewalk. She appeared to be in her early 20s, had blonde hair and was dressed casually in jeans and a sweater or light jacket. (I confess that I didn't pay much attention ... at least not right away).

As the story progresses, people invariably ask, "Was she hot?"

You'll understand the relevance of that question better in a moment, but the best answer I can give is that she looked like a "typical" Wisconsin girl -- the type you'd see carrying a pitcher of beer to her friends at a neighborhood bar on the South Side. She wasn't gorgeous, but had a fresh-faced, Midwestern look. She was short and a bit on the heavy side, but she looked pretty "normal" for this part of the country.

As we drew closer, I noticed that she was carrying something in her hands. I figured they were business cards, free drink coupons for a new bar or maybe -- given the time of year -- a solicitation for the Hunger Task Force or another worthwhile charity.

Now steps away, she smiled, reached out and handed me a slip of paper. Without breaking stride, she said "If you get bored later, call me." I continued to walk a few steps, looked down and saw her name and a phone number written on a strip of loose-leaf or notebook paper.

I walked a few more steps before stopping in my tracks.

"Wait a minute," I thought. "Did that just happen? Is she really ...? Am I being "Punk'd?" Are there vice cops in the area? Could she be a cop? Do we have subtle streetwalkers in town? Is this a new thing caused by the down economy?"

The reporter in me wanted to ask this woman some questions, but she was gone. I suppose I could have called the number on the slip of paper, but I tossed it in the nearest garbage can.

The unexpected encounter with what may or may not have been a young lady of the evening was one of the weirdest experiences I've had in some time.