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One man may seem incompetent, another not make sense, while others look like quite waste of company expense. They need a brother’s leadership, so, please don’t do them in. Remember mediocrity is not a mortal sin.

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Management is hard.  

That’s what my friend Laura says to me, over and over and over.  

She was my first AGM when I became a manager!

She tells me often that management is hard.  

She is not wrong.  

I had the same conversation today with my front of house manager.  

I always thought the hard part would be knowing the job.  

How to do financials. 

How to manage labor.  

How to make sure the needs of the restaurant were met, like ordering trash bags, and paying the rent. 

Turns out that’s the easy part. 

The hard part is managing people.

The personalities.  

All different.  

Not unlike teaching.  

Who needs a hug? 

Who needs a scolding? 

Who needs to be sent home to breathe.  

Who needs a cheeseburger. 

Thinking back to ALLLLL of the manager’s I’ve had in my life, and it’s been a lot, there is a lot I’ve learned along the way.  

My first manager was a friend of my parents.

She fired me for being insubordinate.  

To her daughter.  

My next manager, chain smoked like a chimney.  Was about five feet tall.  Weighed about 80 pounds.  And was a firecracker.

She put up with no shit.  I followed her from the Georgetown Wendy’s to the North Park Wendy’s.  I stopped working for her when my car died and I could no longer get to Lexington.  

I always joke that when I got hired to be a restaurant GM, I sat down and said who do I want to be like. 

The name that came to mind was Mike Cook from Daryl’s restaurant in Lexington.  

Cookie.  

He was horrible

First question when you got to work was what kind of mood is Cookie in?  If he was in a bad mood, everyone was in a bad mood.  If he was in a good mood.  Everyone was in a good mood.  

He was one of the worst manager’s I ever had, because you never, ever knew who you were getting.   

And that I’ve spent the last 13 summers asking myself what would Cookie do, and then did the opposite. 

For all of my faults as a manager, the one thing that I don’t do is take out my personal mood out on my staff.  If I’m depressed?  If I’m mad about something?  I don’t yell at them.   I put a smile on my face and keep it to myself. 

Last summer, was the first time, I developed crack in my facade.

I had employees who could see the pain.  They helped as much as they could, but to no avail.  

In the past though I’ve had lots of good, and lots of bad manager.  

I’ve had managers who played with my schedule.  

I asked for 10 days off at the Hard Rock.  

The 10th day fell on the beginning of the next schedule.  

I went away on my trip, and didn’t show up for day 10 because why would I be scheduled.  

I was told I was being fired for a no call – no show.  

It took about 10 minutes in the GM’s office dropping the word harassment, and discrimination 17 times, for that decision to be reversed.  

The manager who played with my schedule was transferred about 6 weeks later because of me.  

While I’m on the subject of the Hard Rock, two of the best GM’s I ever worked with were there.  Great attitude.  Fair treatment.  Listened.  Cared.  Treated the staff like gold.  

Back to the subject.  

Managing is hard.  

Managing restaurants is especially hard.  

And it’s truly not for the feint of heart.  

I’ve learned a lot over the past 14 summers.  

Do I still fuck up?

Of course.

Back in 2014 I made a rule for myself.  

If I snap at an employee… 

I buy them a beer at the end of the shift.  

Not literally.

Because that would be illegal.

What I do, is take 20 dollars out of my pocket and give it the employee, to buy themselves a beer after work.  

And I ALWAYS apologize. 

ALWAYS

I usually only have a couple of occurrences a year.  

I won’t tag her in the post, but one of my favorite employees of my GM days, was a girl who hosted for me.  

We butted heads a lot. 

She gave her notice at the end of the third summer, in a letter to my boss.  

She gave him all the reasons that she hated me and that was the reason she was quitting.  

Fast forward six months, and she is working in a restaurant, in another state, and she texts me to say that she was sorry.  

She was wrong about me. 

After working in a restaurant, with actual bad management, she realized that I was quite fair in my expectations.  Was pretty clear in what I wanted.  

And wasn’t so bad after all. 

Since then, she has finished her degree, has two kids and I love watching her grow from 8 states away.    

She is not the only person to share the same sentiments with me.   

To end the story, she was the last customer I spoke to on October 29, 2017 the night before we all lost our jobs.  She was in town visiting and had come to the restaurant to see me.  She sat at seat 51 at the Front Bar and we chatted.  

She left.

I went home.  

The next day when I got to work, the locks were being changed and yellow envelopes were being handed out.

I was told, it’s just business.  

It’s not personal.  

But that’s another story.    

Yes, “I’ve arrived” each check announces. Each one gold until it bounces!

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

It was reported by NBC news yesterday, that Target will stop taking personal checks in the coming weeks. 

To be honest, I was surprised they were still taking personal checks.  

I write one check every couple of months for companies, that won’t take a credit card, and don’t use Venmo.   For example, the person who plows our driveway, doesn’t take a card.  The person who installed our a/c, didn’t either.  They don’t want to pay the fees.  

But the number of checks I write gets smaller every year.  

The writing of checks brought back a memory from 1982.  

A memory that I’ve thought about over the years.  

Once upon a time, ATM cards didn’t exist.   

As a 16 year old, I didn’t yet have a credit card.  And sometimes, you need cash.  For a date.  Or a ballgame.  Or a trip to the movies.  

I had a job, but my checks were deposited in the bank.  

And the banks weren’t open after work, or on the weekends.  

On summer evenings, when I needed cash, I could go to a convenient store (think 7-11 or Speedway) and they’d cash a check for you.  

Personally, the place I went most often to cash a check was E-Z Way on North Broadway in Georgetown, KY. 

They never said no.  

In fact, the girl that worked there, often commented on how responsible I was.  

Writing checks.  Recording said checks in my register.  Not having them bounce.    

I was fairly responsible. 

Although, I will say, it was possible to write a check on Wednesday, that you wouldn’t have the funds to cover until Friday.  Because the clearing of checks was much, much slower back then.  

That being said, I didn’t bounce checks.  

I’d go in and pull out my check book, and diligently, fill out all the necessary information.  

Then.  

I was given the 20 dollars I was looking for.  It was almost always 20 dollars.  

On one, particular night, the girl, who thought I was responsible, remarked that I signed my name like a girl.  

What she meant was that you could make out all the letters.  I took my time signing my name.

It gave me pride to do so. 

But on this particular night, I was taken aback.  

I handed her my check.  Received my 20 dollars.  

When I got home that night, I began to practice signing my name.  

Faster and faster.  

Less and less legible. 

Till it was finally a J, followed by an F and a scribble.   

That was followed by my crossing the t, that was imaginary at best.  

In the 42 years since, my signature has gotten worse and worse.  

When I have to sign documents, you can see signs of the signature I practiced year and years ago.  But checks, credit card receipts, it’s a scribble.  

All because, 16 year-old gay Jeff, was worried that someone might learn the truth.  

Oh the horror or it all. 

It makes me sad now.  

I’m not scared to be seen, I make no apologies, this is me

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Gay Pride Edition!

A friend posted my favorite clip from the TV show True Blood today.

You can view it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H7l-VVxCLo8

Whenever I see things like this, it reminds me of the decades of my life spent in the service industry.

This one brought back a very specific memory.

In the mid 90’s, I worked at an Italian restaurant, and I use the word Italian loosely, called The Italian Oven. My ex-boyfriend, Jim got me the job there, after I may or may not have walked out of a job at O’Charley’s, after a substitute manager, filling in for a pregnant manager I loved, yelled at me.

I find myself at The Italian Oven. It has black and white checkered plastic table cloths. The table cloths are covered with white craft paper. When you approach the table, you introduce yourself by name and write your name upside down in crayon on the table cloth. It never ceased to WOW the audience.

Fun fact. It takes about 22 seconds to learn to do this when your name only has 3 different letters.

It was a wood fired restaurant, that served mostly pizzas, calzones, and pastas. The food was remarkably not bad, and it’s where I learned to love tiramisu. We had a beer and liquor license and were very busy most nights. I made a comfortable living there, and had a good time most nights.

It’s funny, that I only remember a couple of people from there, so it didn’t make a huge impact on me, and I remember no one’s name but Jim’s.

What I do remember, is that one Saturday afternoon, toward the end of the lunch rush, a table of five arrives, and are seated in the far back right corner of the restaurant.

The server approaches the table.

I don’t remember his name. I can see his face. I can hear his voice. And he was fun to work with.

The one thing that I do remember is that he was gay. Undeniably gay.

The kind of gay, that when he opened his mouth, a purse fell out.

(We said these things back in the 80’s and 90’s).

He was also kind, and lovely, and the best server in the restaurant.

If I remember correctly, he was the person who trained me.

He approaches the table, introduces himself, writes his name on the table, and is responded to with the following:

You gay?

What?

Are you gay?

What?

We don’t want no gay person waiting on us, get us a new server!!!

I’m in the kitchen with a couple of other servers, and the very straight, very redneck, very religious manager who was on duty. We’ll pretend his name is Robert, which I think it was.

He says, Hey Robert, table 43 has told me they need a new server, because and I quote, they don’t want no gay server waiting on them.

They may have used the “f” word. I don’t remember.

Robert wants to know if he heard them correctly.

He is assured that he heard them loud and clear.

Robert says, I’ll be right back.

He might as well have said, hold my beer.

He goes to the table and says, excuse me, I hear that you have a problem with your server?

They reply, yeah we don’t want no gay person waiting on us.

Robert says, well I don’t know what to tell you all my servers are gay.

They question him.

He says, yes, we only hire gay servers here.

They then ask, if he can wait on them.

He replies, well yes, I can wait on you. I do wait tables from time to time, but I’m gay too, so I don’t know what to tell you.

They hem and haw and eventually realize what is happening.

He says, if you don’t mind a queer manager waiting on you, I’ll be glad to get you some food.

Instead, they gather their belongings and leave.

And I’ve never been happier to work for a redneck, conservative, Christian manager.

Thank you all for the gifts and the flowers, Thank you all, now it’s back to the showers, Don’t tell Adam, but I’m not getting married today

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Gay Pride Edition!

It was summer, August 2017.

I was at work, when two regulars walked into the restaurant.

I seat them, and ask how they’d been doing.

We chatted for a few minutes when they handed me a gift bag with a bottle of wine in it.

I asked them what this was for, and they said for your wedding.

I said, whose wedding.

Yours.

I said, I don’t think I’m getting married.

They explained, that the last time they’d dined with us, that I’d said we were going to be closed the following weekend for a wedding.

They thought I meant MY wedding.

I assured them, that I had not in fact gotten married.

We laughed out loud about the misunderstanding.

Then they handed me the bottle and said, for when you do get married.

It was a very expensive bottle of rose.

For the next few weeks, every time they were in we had a good laugh.

Then the restaurant closed, and I haven’t seen them since.

I’m calm, I’m calm, I’m perfectly calm!

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Gay Pride Edition!

Our queer little show closed tonight.

In case you weren’t paying attention, it’s a group of lesbians, who perform skits and songs as drag kings. I’ve had a couple of friends say they were expecting a something along the lines of a drag queen show. This isn’t anything like that.

It’s a full two-hour show. Filled with scenes about irreverent things that we shouldn’t find funny but we do. Think Book of Mormon with drag queens. They walk right up to the line, but never cross it. In fact, we have lots of discussions about whether it’s cool to say or do things. Conversations about consent, audience response, and whether it’s funny or just crude. Sometimes it’s both.

This show, also had two dance groups with us. Friends of the family so to speak. It was a lot of fun, lighting their pieces as I haven’t lit dance in a long time. I was able to do a lot with the 60 or so instruments in the air. I got lucky with the plot from the last group, as we don’t hang and move very little. We change some color and hope for the best.

Tonight’s performance was a little tricky for me.

I started to have a panic attack just as the show started.

For absolutely no reason.

My heart was racing. My hands were shaking. I was a little out of it.

It’s tricky to push buttons on a light board with your left hand, when it already shakes. Oh, and I’m right handed, but that hand was running sound. Add to that, the effects of a panic attack and my hand was insane. So insane that at the end of the first number I hit the go button twice. I was ahead a cue. Then I went back. Then I tried to figure out where we were with the scene change, and as I’m doing that, the curtain opens with work light. Then I hit the button again, and did it twice again. Finally, we were in the right cue, at the right place, and the rest of the light cues for the act were better than ever. But my heart was till racing.

The light cues were correct.

But I get the video ready to play for the end of the act number, hit play and the video starts. It has about 30 seconds of black with just music. I undouse at the end the 30 seconds and there is no video. And I have no idea why it’s not playing. The person on stage is supposed to be lit by the video. She is in static. The music is playing. I’m sitting there hyperventilating.

Finally, about 90 seconds into it, I fade the music. Bring up the house lights and say, motherfucker!!!

One of the kings comes up to the booth, and we hit play and motherfucker, it worked just like it should have. There was absolutely nothing that I did wrong.

We ended up showing the video at the beginning of Act 2, which I think worked better.

The audience was very forgiving, my friends were very forgiving. Adam came up at intermission and gave me a hug. Then the stage manager came up and gave me a hug. The kings gave me a hug.

The anxiety was gone. Act 2 went off without a hitch.

After the show, much of the cast and friends gathered outside the theater before we moved on to the cast party. A very dear woman come up to me and said are you Jeff? I said that I was, and she began to thank me for my work on the show, telling me how much she loved the direction and the lighting. I thanked her profusely, but to be honest, I was embarrassed. In all my days lighting shows, no one has ever approached me that enthusiastically about my work. A complete stranger at that.

By the time I got the cast party, just like in high school, except all the gays, lesbians, and trans folks were out of the closet, and there was booze. Lots and lots of booze, I felt great.

It felt good.

So good that I told them all that we should go ahead and book the theater for November. Let’s do an election day show, the weekend before.

Let’s see if I can convince them of this.

I do hope it’s not another 9 years.

Face life, with a little guts and a lot of glitter.

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Gay Pride Edition!!!

My show opened tonight.

It went well.

In fact, in over all the shows I’ve designed, I don’t remember ever having brought up a cue and gotten an audible gasp.

It happened tonight.

It’s the equivalent of applause for the set when the curtain rises.

Tonight’s show was a celebration of queer theater.

It involved straight folks, gay folks, lesbian folks, trans folks, and some bi folks.

It was about 15 performers and crew, getting their groove on, making art.

It was not high art; we’ll never be compared to Sondheim.

But it was smart and funny. And the jokes sometimes played on the silly and sometimes were intelligent, and unexpected.

It was theater by committee, as everyone had a voice.

I cleaned up the choreography for the opening musical number. The stage manager staged the curtain call. We all helped the MC, write bits and jokes to tell to fill the space, during transitions and costume changes. The performers gave each other guidance.

Fun fact, except for me and the stage manager, not one of the group has a theater back ground. It’s a group of folks, who decided to put on a show, and didn’t let not knowing how, stop them.

The show changed a great deal in the five days we were in the theater. Scenes were cleaned up. Laugh lines played a multitude of different ways to find the comedy.

More than anything, it was a group of like-minded friends who got together, to celebrate each other, their creativity and their queerness.

The older I get, the more appreciative I am the community we have in Maine, especially the Portland area. We can never take for granted the fact that we live in a state/city/community that allows us to be open. Adam and I never fear, walking across town holding hands. We don’t get nervous at work that someone might see us hugging or getting a quick kiss.

All of our friends are equally open.

The openness is all around us.

Today, I drove through McDonald’s to get a soda. The 16-year-old that handed me my drink, presented as masculine with about 2 weeks growth on his face, but he had 2” acrylic nails painted a bright pink.
I thought to myself you go!!!

This pride post, is about our friends. Our life. Our relationships. Our love for each other and our friends.

The truly best part of the evening, was sitting in the open booth, waving to friends as they entered the theater. Getting hugs at intermission. And being celebrated by these friends at the end of the show.

I truly hope, that my LGBTQ friends, and I have a lot of them, have found communities that embrace you the way ours has. That you are able to feel safe. And loved. And appreciated for the special person that you are.

And for you straight friends, love your LGBTQ neighbors. Support them. Love them. Make them feel safe in your communities.

You’ll get a 100% return on your investment.

So when my spirit starts to sag, I hustle out my highest drag, and put a little more mascara on

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I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Gay Pride Edition!

The summer of 1984, I worked at Wendy’s in North Park.  It was an awesome job, making $3.35 an hour, that I saved,to pay for college each semester.  Yes, it paid for college, with the bare minimum of loans.  

We were open late, and often got a crazy late crowd.    

One night a car drives thru, I’m working the drive thru.  It pulls up to the window, and I tell them the charge will be 9.76.  The driver pays me cash, and we chat while he waits for his order to be ready.  

The chatting becomes flirting, and then he forwardly asks me what time I’ll be off work.  I tell him around 1:00.  He says, he’ll come back then.    

And he did.  

And we dated for about 6 minutes.  Yes, minutes.

And I use the term dating loosely.  

I would drive to Lexington to meet him at closing time at the Video Village that he worked at on New Circle Road.  Fun fact, turns out my friend Todd Lacy, also worked at that store, with this guy.  I found this out about 8 years later.  

I also saw him long enough for me to meet his drag queen roommate, who was very funny, very gregarious, and very sweet.  I’m pretty sure she was the first drag queen I ever met.  

After about 6 minutes, he told me that he didn’t think it would work out.

I was very hurt.  For about 3 days.  

Then I moved on with my summer. 

Fast forward to the fall of 1984.  

I pledge a fraternity at my very conservative, liberal arts college.  

And why did I pledge a fraternity.

Because living in the dorms, meant always watching your back to see if someone saw you drinking.  Or someone saw you out late.  Or someone saw you doing anything that the Bible deemed sinful.    

I pledged the Phi Kappa Tau fraternity.  

And thus started the pledges life.  

Just before Christmas break, the windows of the house were covered with newspaper.  We brought ou mattresses from our dorms.  

And hell week started.  

What happens in hell week is super top secret, so if I told you, I’d have to kill you.  

One thing we did, was have a scavenger hunt.  Get a menu from here.  Get a ticket stub from there.  

Get the autograph of a bartender at Johnny Rockets, the gay bar in Lexington.  

Fun fact, the big gay bar in Lexington has been in this location for decades.  Its right next door to the police station.  And the city has tried for years to buy the building, but the owner has never budged.  

So there we were, driving all over Lexington collecting our souvenirs.  

And it’s time to go into the bar.  

I volunteered along with one of my pledge brothers, but I don’t remember who.  

We walk in, and approach the bar.  

I go up to the bar and wait for the bartender.

I look to my left and I see my friend’s drag queen roommate.  

She smiles.

I smile, while saying a prayer that she doesn’t acknowledge knowing me.  

She’s not dumb, and plays a long.  She says something sassy, and winks at me.  

We get our autograph and go on with our evening.  

I was very grateful that she did not out me.  

It was my first time in a gay bar.  

But certainly not my last. 

We thy call have disobeyed, into paths of sin have strayed and repentance have delayed, we beseech thee, hear us!!!

/ fightmasterwrites / Leave a comment

We thy call have disobeyed
Into paths of sin have strayed
And repentance have delayed
We beseech thee, hear us!

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Pride Edition!

In the late 80’s, I moved back to Kentucky to go to grad school at the University of Kentucky.

A couple of years into this, I met a guy named ????. I don’t remember. We’ll call him Mark.

I don’t remember how I met him. I do know that we got went out a few times.

At one point, he asked if I’d like to join him for church on Sunday morning.

I said sure.

I still believed in god back then, and thought what the hell.

He picks me up on Sunday morning, and we drive toward his church.

On the way, he mentions that he is a Jehovah Witness.

Okay.

I have never been to their church, but I’ve known people in my past who worshiped there.

How bad could it be?

We arrive.

We are out of the car, and he says, Oh.

One more thing. They know I’m gay. I’ve been excommunicated. And no one will speak to us while we are there.

What the fucking fuck.

I go in. He is smiled at. He is acknowledged with a nod. He points out his parents and family.

But for the 90 minutes we were there, not one person spoke to us.

I was not introduced to anyone.

I met no one.

It was the weirdest church service I’d ever attended.

The service starts and the minister says a few things, and then they begin to read from the Watchtower magazine.

They read a passage, then someone with a microphone runs up the aisle to ask someone to interpret the reading.

Like this.

Jesus said to love your neighbor.

Then someone got the mic and said, I believe that means Jesus said we should love our neighbor.

It was that literal.

It perhaps was the longest church service I’ve ever been to.

Because no one spoke to me. I was on parade. Everyone knew I was gay. And no one liked it.

Finally, it is over.

Mark, says goodbye to his parents and siblings.

None of them acknowledge him.

We get back in the car. And head back to Lexington.

That was the last time I saw him.

Until about 10 years later, when I ran into him in NYC coming out of a play. He too had moved to NYC and was living his best life.

We hugged.

Caught up for 4 minutes.

Then went our separate ways.

The moral of this story, is that if you have to do things that are uncomfortable, do it alone.

Don’t bring a victim to suffer with you.

Curtain up! Light the lights. You got nothing to hit but the heights.

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I’d like to say speak to the manager!!!

Pride Edition!

I graduated from grad school in 2006, with an MFA in lighting from the University of San Diego, California.  

I spent 6 weeks, that summer in Maine.  

During that time 4 of my friends, decided to do a drag king show in their garage.  They expected 20 people to show.  That night the yard was packed closer to 50/60 people. 

It was a party and the show was a blast.  It was performed on stock 4×8 platforms and we rented four PAR 64’s to light them.  I ran sound on a corner of the stage and the music would skip if the danced too aggressively. 

This was the beginning of something big.  

They continued to do shows. Getting bigger, better, and more popular as they did so.  

Fast forward 8 years, and they rent a 300 hundred seat theater and produce a full scale production.  They hired designers, stage managers, and a crew.  The show was a huge success sold out for the run and they considered it a failure because they were 400 dollars short when it was all said and done. 

I assured them I had many friends who would love to run a theater company that failed like that.  

In 2015, they produced another show in the same space.  We’re equally successful.  

I had been a part of all but one show.  

I acted as designer of course.  But I also directed and  choreographed.  We were best the theater in the wee hours of the morning as I taught them the choreography to thriller.  

That was their last show. 

To be a self producing company is a full time job.  And all of them had full time careers, partners, life that was not focused on theater.  

They’ve joked and contemplated doing another show ever since.  At the end of last summer they decided it was time. They started writing. They started planning. They started rehearsing. 

They approached me before the approached the theater space about a rental.  They made it clear that they’d forget the whole thing if I said no. I of course said yes. 

Meanwhile, the last show I designed was for them 9 years ago.  Except for appreciating the work of good designers at the shows we see, I haven’t thought much about it. 

I got to the theater early evening, and we focused lights and I roughed in cues for half the show. 

I called everyone up the stage to commemorate the recording of my first cue in 9 years.  

I also have to point out, that this is the first show, in my whole life, where I didn’t have a Diet Coke on the floor next to me. Today it was a polar sparkling water. 

Tomorrow night, I’ll finish cueing the show.  

We’ll rehearse Thursday, with a first and final dress on Thursday night. 

We open Friday. 

We close Saturday. 

The show has been sold out for weeks.  

It has fun to be back in the theater.  It was fun focusing.  It was fun writing cues.  It was fun realizing that programming an ETC board is ingrained in my head like knowing my name.  

I’ll check back in this week about how it’s going.  

Meanwhile my friends documented my work today. 

The sex is in the heel, even if you break it. The sex is in the hell, honey you can’t fake it.

/ fightmasterwrites / 1 Comment

The sex is in the heel even if you break it
The sex is in the heel, honey you can’t fake it

I’d like to speak to the manager!!!

Gay Edition!

I spent 1987 and 1988 waiting tables at Bennigan’s.  It was located at The Lenox Mall, in Atlanta, back when the mall was only one floor, and Rich’s and Macy’s were the anchor stores.  Banana Republic still focused on cargo shorts.  Abercrombie and Fitch had not started selling sex yet.  Structure was a favorite store of mine.  

I’ve written about my time there, and how it was the beginning of my coming out.  

Everyone I worked with knew I was gay.  

And as with every restaurant, the cast of characters was ever changing.

The beginning of my first summer there, a very cute, very masculine young man was hired.  He was a very straight, very sheltered, straight fraternity guy.  (This becomes important later).  

He starts work, and I trained him one of his shifts.  Believe it or not, I was a trainer, in every restaurant I ever worked for.  I always loved it, because I felt like I was a great server, and could share my talent with others.  

I train him, and he becomes a real server. 

As he gets to know me, and the rest of the staff, he can’t believe all the gay people.

And he can’t believe that I’m gay, as I don’t look gay.  I’m assuming he meant that I didn’t walk the runway in front of the bar as Jason did.  And I didn’t wear makeup like Kelly did.  And I didn’t gesture with a limp wrist like Billy did.  

I however, did not hide it.  I sang showtunes in the kitchen.  I learned to be caddy along with the best of them.  And if you took a second look, the façade always gave way to the truth.  

Imagine my surprise, when one Saturday night, I’m waiting tables, and this young man comes in for dinner, with three of his fraternity brothers.  And ask to sit in my section.  

I wait on them, have fun teasing and joking around with them.  They pay the bill, tip me well and are on their way.  

A couple of days later, I work with this guy and he tells me why he wanted to sit in my section.  

He wanted his friends to meet a real life out of the closet gay guy, who didn’t look gay.  To him I was a novelty.  He’d never met someone who looked and acted straight who was gay.  

I took the comments with a grain of salt, understanding what he was trying to say.

However, I did say to him.

Greg, how many men are in your fraternity?  

He replied, 70.

I said, well think about this.  It is estimated that 10% of the population is gay.  So that means that 7 of your fraternity brothers are gay.  And I can assure you, it’s not the ones you think.  And I can assure you that a couple of them act straighter than me.   Think of that tonight as you are showering before bed.  

And I turned on my heels, and sashayed away, walking the runway in front of the bar.