Conversation with box office patron, by phone:
Patron: "Are there little busses that go to your theater?"
Me: "Ah, there are several public transit busses that service the area...I'm afraid I'm not sure what you mean by little busses."
P: "Well, I'm not from around here."
M: "Ah.....:
P: "We're going to be at Navy Pier [which she pronounced as if very carefully enunciating a foreign language out of a guidebook]. Are you far away?"
M: "The theater is about five miles north of downtown Chicago."
P: "How far are you from the Magnificent Mile?"
M: "That's downtown, and the theater is about five miles north of downtown."
P: "Oh, so you're by University of Chicago."
M: "Well, the University is south of downtown. The theater is north of downtown."
Saturday, September 23, 2006
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Heard On The Street
9 September, Balmoral and Lakewood. Woman pushing stroller, while her perhaps five year old daughter walks alongside.
Mother to daughter: "And my vagina says you're not."
Mother to daughter: "And my vagina says you're not."
Friday, September 08, 2006
Why Computers Are Not Always Smart...
I have just received an email from Hyatt Hotels. Based on the information I provided (with an eye toward getting a graphic design gig with the company), they say, I am qualified for the position of Manager, Quality Assurance. The job involves...
"management, analysis and reporting results of Guest and Meeting Planner satisfaction surveys, including vendor management, contract/pricing management, communication (written, verbal and formal presentations) and partnership with the corporate stakeholders (Operations, F&B, Marketing, Sales, Development, HR/Compensation, etc.)"
It looks like English. Doesn't make much sense. Partnership with corporate stakeholders?
It looks like English. Doesn't make much sense. Partnership with corporate stakeholders?
- Primary vendor contact and management associated with special proprietary projects appended to these studies
- Responsible for relationship-building with corporate stakeholders and hotels
- Responsible for traveling and conducting work sessions with individual properties to
Sunday, September 03, 2006
A Day At The Box Office
Woman cuts in line at window.
Woman leans in.
Woman says: "We ordered our tickets with American Express. We don't have to wait in line, do we?"
Sadly, "we" did.
Woman leans in.
Woman says: "We ordered our tickets with American Express. We don't have to wait in line, do we?"
Sadly, "we" did.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Look For Me On Project Runway
Not one, but two people at work today told me I was dressed drably, and not up to my usual standards. As my boss put it: "Jeans? A polo? K-Swiss sneakers? Where are the great clothes?"
Which means one of two things, I think.
I am incredibly stylish.
Or the people I work with are so incredibly not stylish, that I seem to GQ material by comparison.
Which means one of two things, I think.
I am incredibly stylish.
Or the people I work with are so incredibly not stylish, that I seem to GQ material by comparison.
Give Me An S!
I was at Chicago's Shedd Aquarium recently, in the company of some dear friends from Michigan and their (as it turned out) adorable children. We made our way to the elevators that take guests down to the Wild Reef exhibit.
There was a woman there, we'll just say an older woman, a Shedd employee.
Was she enticing guests to visit the Wild Reef with charming patter, or a winning spiel?
No.
What she was doing was this: she was (almost) yelling "Sharks! Sharks! Sharks"
She would occasionally mix things up by adding "S! H! A! R! K! S!"
There was a woman there, we'll just say an older woman, a Shedd employee.
Was she enticing guests to visit the Wild Reef with charming patter, or a winning spiel?
No.
What she was doing was this: she was (almost) yelling "Sharks! Sharks! Sharks"
She would occasionally mix things up by adding "S! H! A! R! K! S!"
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Where's My Geritol?
Late summer, 2000. Around 10 o'clock in the evening.
I stand at the corner of Broadway and Montrose, waiting to cross the street.
Someone calls out, "Ooooh, daddy." It's obvious from the tone that the young man calling this out has seen someone he would like gain conjugal knowledge of.
I look around, to see the young man, and to see who he might be referring to.
I see a young, muscular man, shirtless, glistening with sweat.
I see no one else.
I realize he was referring to me.
I realize that the young, muscular, shirtless, and it appeared, non-underwear wearing, hung, young man, who is smiling at me, was referring to me.
I realize he just called me "Daddy."
I feel old. I appreciate the obvious compliment... but... daddy?
I stand at the corner of Broadway and Montrose, waiting to cross the street.
Someone calls out, "Ooooh, daddy." It's obvious from the tone that the young man calling this out has seen someone he would like gain conjugal knowledge of.
I look around, to see the young man, and to see who he might be referring to.
I see a young, muscular man, shirtless, glistening with sweat.
I see no one else.
I realize he was referring to me.
I realize that the young, muscular, shirtless, and it appeared, non-underwear wearing, hung, young man, who is smiling at me, was referring to me.
I realize he just called me "Daddy."
I feel old. I appreciate the obvious compliment... but... daddy?
A Brief Update About The Airline
A letter arrived yesterday, addressed to me, from that airline I loath.
I opened the envelope. I pulled out the letter.
Dear Ms Yvonne Cole*, it began.
I can't figure out if Ms Cole had the same complaint that I did, or if they are just utterly inept.
*Name changed.
I opened the envelope. I pulled out the letter.
Dear Ms Yvonne Cole*, it began.
I can't figure out if Ms Cole had the same complaint that I did, or if they are just utterly inept.
*Name changed.
News From The Cube Next Door
Friday, 18 August.
Woman in next cube over is on a lengthy personal phone call.
(This may be due to the fact that she left her Blackberry -- given her by the company, that her clients may call or email her at any time, and she can respond immediately -- at home. Because she uses it as an alarm clock, which means she puts it under her pillow, which means that it's not in her purse, which means that she doesn't think of it when she leaves in the morning.)
Woman in next cube tells her friend on the phone -- and thus tells the entire office -- that all of her log-ons and passwords -- work, banking, shopping -- are exactly the same, as she can barely remember the one set of log-ons and passwords. Why, she'd be lost if she had different ones for different sites.
I consider pointing out to her that announcing such information to the entire office is, perhaps, not wise.
I decide not to.
Woman in next cube over is on a lengthy personal phone call.
(This may be due to the fact that she left her Blackberry -- given her by the company, that her clients may call or email her at any time, and she can respond immediately -- at home. Because she uses it as an alarm clock, which means she puts it under her pillow, which means that it's not in her purse, which means that she doesn't think of it when she leaves in the morning.)
Woman in next cube tells her friend on the phone -- and thus tells the entire office -- that all of her log-ons and passwords -- work, banking, shopping -- are exactly the same, as she can barely remember the one set of log-ons and passwords. Why, she'd be lost if she had different ones for different sites.
I consider pointing out to her that announcing such information to the entire office is, perhaps, not wise.
I decide not to.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Step On A Crack
Friday, 18 August. Adams Street, between Clinton and the river.
Mother and child strolling down the street.
Child is enthusiastically stomping on each crack in the sidewalk, yelling with great delight "I broke your back! I broke your back!"
Mother and child strolling down the street.
Child is enthusiastically stomping on each crack in the sidewalk, yelling with great delight "I broke your back! I broke your back!"
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Why I Loath That Airline, What I Learned About Warts, And Other Things From My Voyage To Virginia
I recently flew to Virgina for an extended weekend.
Last year, when I flew to Virigina, the airline made such a muddle of the flight (I don't want to refer to them by name, so I'll make up a clever fake name to use... um... ah! Untied Airlines!) that they sent me a $100 voucher good against another flight. I figured, one flight, $100 voucher, my out of pocket expense will be minimal.
So I logged on Untied's website. Turns out you can't use such vouchers online. You have to call. So I call. Turns out you have to pay a $15 fee when you phone Untied, they'd really like you to book online. At the time, I was tired, it was late, I just wanted to book the flight, so I said nothing.
Later, though, I emailed Untied and expressed my disappointment that they would require me to book by phone and then penalize me for "choosing" to book by phone.
In response, they told me that, had I booked online, I could have avoided the fee.
In response, I told them that I would much rather have booked online, as I don't particularly enjoy talking to Untied employees; sadly, their own rules prevented me from doing so.
In response, they told me that, had I booked online, I could have avoided the fee.
In response, I expressed my concern that perhaps they were not actually reading my email, and if that were the case, I would prefer they simply ignore me altogether, rather than respond with foolish advice.
I have not heard from them since.
The flight took off just two hours after the scheduled departure time, something of an accomplishment for my Untied friends, and I was certainly better off than a young lady on my flight. She had booked an 8 am flight to Denver, which had been cancelled. She was on an early afternoon flight to Baltimore, to get on a flight from Baltimore to Denver, as that was the only way Untied could see to get her where she was going.
The flight itself was uneventful, and the delightfully warm weather in Maryland was most welcome. I caught the Metro bus to the Metro Green line station. I took my seat on the train, and, as it turns out, a young lady and her parents were seated close by.
Her first topic of conversation was warts. Specifically, hers. On her left hand. And how her doctor couldn't get rid of them. And it cost her $3o a visit. And her old doctor could get rid of warts, but she wasn't on the plan. This topic of conversation lasted through the first four stops the train made.
From there, she moved on to summer, and how it makes people stink, and how much she hates that. This consumed several more stops.
By the time the train arrived at the L'Enfant station, I was more than happy to grab my bags and go.
My first stop on my little vacation was the Arlington home of: Kim and Rich, two dear old friends from my days in Michigan; and a new friend, Jared. I spent several delightful days in the company of these fellows, enjoying delicious home-cooked meals, a visit to the National Portrait Gallery, and much beer.
From Arlington, the four of us motored through the lovely Virginia countryside to Arlington, where my sweetie Matthew was appearing in the Shenandoah University Summer Theatre production of "The Wizard of Oz" as the Scarecrow.
We enjoyed several delightful meals, and a disappointing one at the Triangle Diner, where Winchester's own Patsy Cline once worked as a waitress. Matthew and I had dined there in 2005; but this time, things were different. We especially enjoyed the show; Matthew was great, and the woman playing the Witch was wonderful, too.
The Virginia boys left on Sunday to return home. Matthew and I left on Monday, bound for Chicago and our own bed. Our plan was to stop at a hotel in Maumee, Ohio. The room was paid for with a coupon I'd gotten, good for a night's stay, after the awful time I'd had checking out at one of their hotels in 2005.
(What had happened was, the rate I'd booked online had not been put into the file the hotel had for my reservation. Which is fine, things happen. What made me angry was how unpleasant the staff was when I checked out: the old guy working complained about "You people" -- it seems he hates how we people think we can get things for free. And the young lady called me a liar, to my face. Subsequent conversations with the hotel's general manager led to the acknowledgement that I was right and they were wrong.)
You can imagine my concern, upon arriving at the hotel around 11.15 pm, to find that one of the two on-duty staff members had locked herself out of the hotel. She finally had to pound on a window, summoning one of the housekeeping staff to let her in.
The next day, many hours, many dollars of gas, and several thrift store stops later, we arrived back at Balmoral Avenue in Chicago, happy to be home.
Last year, when I flew to Virigina, the airline made such a muddle of the flight (I don't want to refer to them by name, so I'll make up a clever fake name to use... um... ah! Untied Airlines!) that they sent me a $100 voucher good against another flight. I figured, one flight, $100 voucher, my out of pocket expense will be minimal.
So I logged on Untied's website. Turns out you can't use such vouchers online. You have to call. So I call. Turns out you have to pay a $15 fee when you phone Untied, they'd really like you to book online. At the time, I was tired, it was late, I just wanted to book the flight, so I said nothing.
Later, though, I emailed Untied and expressed my disappointment that they would require me to book by phone and then penalize me for "choosing" to book by phone.
In response, they told me that, had I booked online, I could have avoided the fee.
In response, I told them that I would much rather have booked online, as I don't particularly enjoy talking to Untied employees; sadly, their own rules prevented me from doing so.
In response, they told me that, had I booked online, I could have avoided the fee.
In response, I expressed my concern that perhaps they were not actually reading my email, and if that were the case, I would prefer they simply ignore me altogether, rather than respond with foolish advice.
I have not heard from them since.
The flight took off just two hours after the scheduled departure time, something of an accomplishment for my Untied friends, and I was certainly better off than a young lady on my flight. She had booked an 8 am flight to Denver, which had been cancelled. She was on an early afternoon flight to Baltimore, to get on a flight from Baltimore to Denver, as that was the only way Untied could see to get her where she was going.
The flight itself was uneventful, and the delightfully warm weather in Maryland was most welcome. I caught the Metro bus to the Metro Green line station. I took my seat on the train, and, as it turns out, a young lady and her parents were seated close by.
Her first topic of conversation was warts. Specifically, hers. On her left hand. And how her doctor couldn't get rid of them. And it cost her $3o a visit. And her old doctor could get rid of warts, but she wasn't on the plan. This topic of conversation lasted through the first four stops the train made.
From there, she moved on to summer, and how it makes people stink, and how much she hates that. This consumed several more stops.
By the time the train arrived at the L'Enfant station, I was more than happy to grab my bags and go.
My first stop on my little vacation was the Arlington home of: Kim and Rich, two dear old friends from my days in Michigan; and a new friend, Jared. I spent several delightful days in the company of these fellows, enjoying delicious home-cooked meals, a visit to the National Portrait Gallery, and much beer.
From Arlington, the four of us motored through the lovely Virginia countryside to Arlington, where my sweetie Matthew was appearing in the Shenandoah University Summer Theatre production of "The Wizard of Oz" as the Scarecrow.
We enjoyed several delightful meals, and a disappointing one at the Triangle Diner, where Winchester's own Patsy Cline once worked as a waitress. Matthew and I had dined there in 2005; but this time, things were different. We especially enjoyed the show; Matthew was great, and the woman playing the Witch was wonderful, too.
The Virginia boys left on Sunday to return home. Matthew and I left on Monday, bound for Chicago and our own bed. Our plan was to stop at a hotel in Maumee, Ohio. The room was paid for with a coupon I'd gotten, good for a night's stay, after the awful time I'd had checking out at one of their hotels in 2005.
(What had happened was, the rate I'd booked online had not been put into the file the hotel had for my reservation. Which is fine, things happen. What made me angry was how unpleasant the staff was when I checked out: the old guy working complained about "You people" -- it seems he hates how we people think we can get things for free. And the young lady called me a liar, to my face. Subsequent conversations with the hotel's general manager led to the acknowledgement that I was right and they were wrong.)
You can imagine my concern, upon arriving at the hotel around 11.15 pm, to find that one of the two on-duty staff members had locked herself out of the hotel. She finally had to pound on a window, summoning one of the housekeeping staff to let her in.
The next day, many hours, many dollars of gas, and several thrift store stops later, we arrived back at Balmoral Avenue in Chicago, happy to be home.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Seen in the Subway
3 August, approximately 5pm. The L'enfant Plaza Metro station, Washington DC, waiting for the Orange Line train to Clarendon.
Panhandler approaches, asks for fifty cents. As is my custom, I pretend to be deaf and blind and unable to acknowledge existence of panhandler. Also, this was the very subway station in which I threw up, on a previous visit, due to overindulgence in alcohol, and I was trying to see if I could remember exactly where I hurled.
Panhandler moves on. Several feet away, he asks a man for fifty cents. Man digs in pocket, proffers quarter.
Panhandler is annoyed. "No. I need fifty cents. I don't need no quarter. I need fifty cents."
Man extends quarter, perhaps feeling that panhandler is simply politely protesting his generosity.
Panhander continues: "No, I need fifty cents! I know you're gay! But I need fifty cents!"
(Based on the yamulke and the copy of a Chaim Potok novel in his hand, I'd have pegged him for observably Jewish rather than observably gay, but whatever.)
Man returns quarter to pocket. Panhandler walks off.
Panhandler approaches, asks for fifty cents. As is my custom, I pretend to be deaf and blind and unable to acknowledge existence of panhandler. Also, this was the very subway station in which I threw up, on a previous visit, due to overindulgence in alcohol, and I was trying to see if I could remember exactly where I hurled.
Panhandler moves on. Several feet away, he asks a man for fifty cents. Man digs in pocket, proffers quarter.
Panhandler is annoyed. "No. I need fifty cents. I don't need no quarter. I need fifty cents."
Man extends quarter, perhaps feeling that panhandler is simply politely protesting his generosity.
Panhander continues: "No, I need fifty cents! I know you're gay! But I need fifty cents!"
(Based on the yamulke and the copy of a Chaim Potok novel in his hand, I'd have pegged him for observably Jewish rather than observably gay, but whatever.)
Man returns quarter to pocket. Panhandler walks off.
Bitter, Party Of One...
Arlington, Virginia, around 8 in the morning. Friday, 4 August.
My hosts still asleep, I decided to shower, dress, and stroll down Kirkwood to the Giant grocery store. My morning Coca-Cola and the Friday New York Times in hand, I queued up in the express lane. Which is where I saw Bitter Bruce, the Crabby Cashier.
Bruce had struck a pose, one hip thrust forward. What few hairs remain atop his head were each brushed in very precise lines towards the back of his head. Bruce did not look at anyone, whether he was talking to them or not.
The customer being checked out, a gentleman in (expensive) casual clothes, made a comment about it being "casual Friday."
"Oh." said Bruce. The bitterness in that 'oh' was palpable. "Yeah. I remember casual Friday. THAT was a whole OTHER lifetime."
My hosts still asleep, I decided to shower, dress, and stroll down Kirkwood to the Giant grocery store. My morning Coca-Cola and the Friday New York Times in hand, I queued up in the express lane. Which is where I saw Bitter Bruce, the Crabby Cashier.
Bruce had struck a pose, one hip thrust forward. What few hairs remain atop his head were each brushed in very precise lines towards the back of his head. Bruce did not look at anyone, whether he was talking to them or not.
The customer being checked out, a gentleman in (expensive) casual clothes, made a comment about it being "casual Friday."
"Oh." said Bruce. The bitterness in that 'oh' was palpable. "Yeah. I remember casual Friday. THAT was a whole OTHER lifetime."
Saturday, July 29, 2006
It's So Big
At the theater, Saturday, 29 July.
Selling tickets to woman on phone. Our conversation up to this point had quickly revealed that this young lady was not a clever lass.
Says I: "And the credit card number, please."
Says she: "............................um............................is that the big one?"
Selling tickets to woman on phone. Our conversation up to this point had quickly revealed that this young lady was not a clever lass.
Says I: "And the credit card number, please."
Says she: "............................um............................is that the big one?"
Thursday, July 27, 2006
Seen On The Street
Chicago and Milwaukee, around 7 in the morning.
A man, walking down the street.
With a 12-pack of Budweiser.
Balanced on his head.
A man, walking down the street.
With a 12-pack of Budweiser.
Balanced on his head.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Look, Up In The Corner!
Yes, check out that lovely photo of me. It was taken at Wizard World, the big comic book con held each year out in Rosemont, many years ago.
Courtesy of a friend of mine, who made superhero costumes not only as a hobby, but for DC Comics and Alex Ross, among other clients, I am dressed as Tempest. (I had to wear a dance belt in that get-up. Never again.)
Anyway, the creator of Tempest*, an openly gay artist working for DC, was at the convention, and my friend made sure we stopped by the DC booth. He introduced us and the artist politely complimented me on what fun it was to see his creation come to life.
Fast forward to the next day. There I am, dressed in normal clothes, standing in the men's room... well, doing what one does when one is standing in the men's room. When all of a sudden there's a voice over my left shoulder: "You looked really hot yesterday in the costume."
I turned my head. It was all I could turn. I was busy.
Yes. It was the artist.
It was an awkward moment. I couldn't really turn to face him, but I felt I had to respond. Two things occured to at almost the same moment: artist would not approach someone who looked really hot dressed as his creation in the bathroom unless he wanted a little somethin'-somethin', if you know what I mean. And artist didn't seem to have much common sense. If you're gonna approach someone in the men's room, wait until their hands are free.
(This reminds me of another awkward moment involving gay men. Many, many years ago, back in Grand Rapids, I was at the cast party for Blood Brothers, starring a perennial favorite of mine, Petula Clark. I was busily cruising an attractive young chorus boy, we were engaged in witty conversation, when all of a sudden he says, "Oh, I want you to meet somone." He grabbed me by the elbow and spun me around, and there was Petula Clark. Understand this: I LOVE Petula Clark. "Petula," he says, "this is one of our presenters." Pet looks me up. Pet looks me down. Pet says: "Where's dessert." Not even a question. Pet wanted dessert. "Um," I cleverly responded, "I think they're bringing it out now." Not only did I blow the one chance in my life to impress Petula Clark with my wit and charm, I didn't get the chorus boy either.)
*Fellow comic geeks: Yes, I know Tempest was a revamp of Aqualad. I didn't want to confuse the non-fans.
Courtesy of a friend of mine, who made superhero costumes not only as a hobby, but for DC Comics and Alex Ross, among other clients, I am dressed as Tempest. (I had to wear a dance belt in that get-up. Never again.)
Anyway, the creator of Tempest*, an openly gay artist working for DC, was at the convention, and my friend made sure we stopped by the DC booth. He introduced us and the artist politely complimented me on what fun it was to see his creation come to life.
Fast forward to the next day. There I am, dressed in normal clothes, standing in the men's room... well, doing what one does when one is standing in the men's room. When all of a sudden there's a voice over my left shoulder: "You looked really hot yesterday in the costume."
I turned my head. It was all I could turn. I was busy.
Yes. It was the artist.
It was an awkward moment. I couldn't really turn to face him, but I felt I had to respond. Two things occured to at almost the same moment: artist would not approach someone who looked really hot dressed as his creation in the bathroom unless he wanted a little somethin'-somethin', if you know what I mean. And artist didn't seem to have much common sense. If you're gonna approach someone in the men's room, wait until their hands are free.
(This reminds me of another awkward moment involving gay men. Many, many years ago, back in Grand Rapids, I was at the cast party for Blood Brothers, starring a perennial favorite of mine, Petula Clark. I was busily cruising an attractive young chorus boy, we were engaged in witty conversation, when all of a sudden he says, "Oh, I want you to meet somone." He grabbed me by the elbow and spun me around, and there was Petula Clark. Understand this: I LOVE Petula Clark. "Petula," he says, "this is one of our presenters." Pet looks me up. Pet looks me down. Pet says: "Where's dessert." Not even a question. Pet wanted dessert. "Um," I cleverly responded, "I think they're bringing it out now." Not only did I blow the one chance in my life to impress Petula Clark with my wit and charm, I didn't get the chorus boy either.)
*Fellow comic geeks: Yes, I know Tempest was a revamp of Aqualad. I didn't want to confuse the non-fans.
Sunday, July 16, 2006
There Must Be An Easier Way To Say Excuse Me
A (very) north side bar, shortly after midnight. Waiting for the crowd to move a bit so that I could get through.
There's a tap on my right cheek. You know, down there. I ignore the tap.
Then there's another, and then one more. Partly to see who it is who's a-tapping on my ass, and partly to prevent them from doing it again, I turn around.
The fellow behind me very carefully, with two fingers of his right hand, touched his forehead. His abdomen. His left shoulder. And his right shoulder.
And then he nodded, and walked away and out of the bar.
There's a tap on my right cheek. You know, down there. I ignore the tap.
Then there's another, and then one more. Partly to see who it is who's a-tapping on my ass, and partly to prevent them from doing it again, I turn around.
The fellow behind me very carefully, with two fingers of his right hand, touched his forehead. His abdomen. His left shoulder. And his right shoulder.
And then he nodded, and walked away and out of the bar.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
My First Week On The Job
I have completed my first week of working for Ticketmaster. I have learned many things.
I have learned how to reclass seats to conform venue capacity to a show's requested onsale.
I have learned that it's vital that one's listop and secpoc match.
I have learned to linka.
And I have learned that, as a Ticketmaster employee, I am not allowed to buy tickets from Ticketmaster*....
(*Sure, I can order tickets through the executive secretary, but that doesn't mean I'll get tickets. If I buy tickets online or by phone, well, it seems Ticketmaster runs all orders against their employee database. Matches get no tickets.)
I have learned how to reclass seats to conform venue capacity to a show's requested onsale.
I have learned that it's vital that one's listop and secpoc match.
I have learned to linka.
And I have learned that, as a Ticketmaster employee, I am not allowed to buy tickets from Ticketmaster*....
(*Sure, I can order tickets through the executive secretary, but that doesn't mean I'll get tickets. If I buy tickets online or by phone, well, it seems Ticketmaster runs all orders against their employee database. Matches get no tickets.)
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Gay Men Shopping
Jewel, at Broadway and Berwyn, 12 July, about 10 in the evening. At that hour, Jewel has locked one set of the entrance doors.
Two overly gay men approach the locked doors. They try to enter. The doors do not open. They push on the doors. The doors are locked. They attempt to enter through the exit. One of the fellows reads the sign: "Do not enter."
They come to the next set of exit doors. Same fellow reads the sign: "Do not enter."
The other fellow speaks up. "They are NOT making this very convenient!"
Sign reader responds. "Well..... this isn't a convenience store!"
Two overly gay men approach the locked doors. They try to enter. The doors do not open. They push on the doors. The doors are locked. They attempt to enter through the exit. One of the fellows reads the sign: "Do not enter."
They come to the next set of exit doors. Same fellow reads the sign: "Do not enter."
The other fellow speaks up. "They are NOT making this very convenient!"
Sign reader responds. "Well..... this isn't a convenience store!"
Friday, July 07, 2006
I Thought He Was Talking To Me
My aunt's kitchen. The third of July. My friend Mark and I are standing at the counter. My uncle looks in our direction and says, "So, what're you doing for the Fourth, Sissy?"
As my uncle had never before been overtly homophobic, I was taken aback and left at a loss for words.
My aunt... his sister.... spoke up from where she was standing, right behind me: "We're just going to the parade is all."
As my uncle had never before been overtly homophobic, I was taken aback and left at a loss for words.
My aunt... his sister.... spoke up from where she was standing, right behind me: "We're just going to the parade is all."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)