Bitchy Fucking Queens
Jane is sitting on a barstool outside a very crowded bar on a Friday night working as a doorman. We know Jane. We have gone out for drinks before and on a number of occasions had quite good conversation with her.
But on this Friday night Jane is feeling a little tired, maybe a long work week and she has to deal with drunken faggots all night. 4am has never seemed so far away.
Enter me, my boyfriend and a friend. We go to say hello and before we can even get a hello out she snaps “you are gonna have to wait in line over there.”
Now, I was in no mood to wait in line to go into a bar. I really was in no mood to go out, but I was humoring a friend, as well as my boyfriend. So I was more than willing to do an about face and walk away and not give Jane or the bar another thought.
My friend being an older gay man, who was in almost a desperate state to meet someone, was more than willing to quietly shuffle to the end of the line and suffer the indignity of having to deal with Jane and her oh so fragile ego.
My boyfriend however was of a whole different mind. He had been friends with Jane for a while and was not about to let her get off with this sort of behavior.
Jane however, was not about to have any lip from anyone. She let loose a few gems from that big old purse of hers, she was setting an example for all the other faggots who might be entertaining thoughts of acting up.
None the less we walked away, my boyfriend and I, without our drink and without our friend.
He was more mortified that we were making a scene than he was that we were being treated so badly, by someone that was supposed to be a friend.
Now the whole time that Jane and my boyfriend were yelling at each other the only thought that was going through my head was “Jane, important people are inside the bar on a Friday night, not sitting on a stool outside of it.”
And there I had done it. Just nestled that tiara right there on my pate.
What is it about gay men that make us so quick on our toes? That as soon as we are feeling vulnerable we lash out with the only daggers that we are comfortable with? Words. We know how deep they can cut yet we have no regard for the scars that they leave. How can we be so fickle? Most of us are still nursing the wounds that we received as a child. We all have built up so many walls around us. We say that it rolls off of our back. We tell ourselves that it doesn’t affect us, so it is okay to do that to others. We are like a wounded animal, lashing out at whatever should come close to us, be it friend or foe.
Had Jane taken the time to say hello before telling us that it was really crowded inside and that we were going to have to wait, I am pretty sure I would have stayed and chatted and dutifully waited my turn to go inside. I am pretty sure my boyfriend would have done likewise. And our friend was going in no matter what they demanded of him. But now the question is raised, how do we deal with Jane next time we see her? This is the first time that she has ever been an outright bitchy cunt to me. I have no interest in pursuing this friendship, if that is what you want to call it. Do I let Jane know that she got under my skin? Did she win something? I guess it is okay that she knows she got to me. But in some small way I still feel, that yes she has won something. But what is it?
But on this Friday night Jane is feeling a little tired, maybe a long work week and she has to deal with drunken faggots all night. 4am has never seemed so far away.
Enter me, my boyfriend and a friend. We go to say hello and before we can even get a hello out she snaps “you are gonna have to wait in line over there.”
Now, I was in no mood to wait in line to go into a bar. I really was in no mood to go out, but I was humoring a friend, as well as my boyfriend. So I was more than willing to do an about face and walk away and not give Jane or the bar another thought.
My friend being an older gay man, who was in almost a desperate state to meet someone, was more than willing to quietly shuffle to the end of the line and suffer the indignity of having to deal with Jane and her oh so fragile ego.
My boyfriend however was of a whole different mind. He had been friends with Jane for a while and was not about to let her get off with this sort of behavior.
Jane however, was not about to have any lip from anyone. She let loose a few gems from that big old purse of hers, she was setting an example for all the other faggots who might be entertaining thoughts of acting up.
None the less we walked away, my boyfriend and I, without our drink and without our friend.
He was more mortified that we were making a scene than he was that we were being treated so badly, by someone that was supposed to be a friend.
Now the whole time that Jane and my boyfriend were yelling at each other the only thought that was going through my head was “Jane, important people are inside the bar on a Friday night, not sitting on a stool outside of it.”
And there I had done it. Just nestled that tiara right there on my pate.
What is it about gay men that make us so quick on our toes? That as soon as we are feeling vulnerable we lash out with the only daggers that we are comfortable with? Words. We know how deep they can cut yet we have no regard for the scars that they leave. How can we be so fickle? Most of us are still nursing the wounds that we received as a child. We all have built up so many walls around us. We say that it rolls off of our back. We tell ourselves that it doesn’t affect us, so it is okay to do that to others. We are like a wounded animal, lashing out at whatever should come close to us, be it friend or foe.
Had Jane taken the time to say hello before telling us that it was really crowded inside and that we were going to have to wait, I am pretty sure I would have stayed and chatted and dutifully waited my turn to go inside. I am pretty sure my boyfriend would have done likewise. And our friend was going in no matter what they demanded of him. But now the question is raised, how do we deal with Jane next time we see her? This is the first time that she has ever been an outright bitchy cunt to me. I have no interest in pursuing this friendship, if that is what you want to call it. Do I let Jane know that she got under my skin? Did she win something? I guess it is okay that she knows she got to me. But in some small way I still feel, that yes she has won something. But what is it?
posted by yellowcracker @ 4:15 PM
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