Monday, January 21st 2008
Mother Told Me There’d Be Nights Like This
On the final evening of a not-so-recent trip to Boston I was treated to an evening of laughs with old friends and arguments with new assholes.
The friend I was visiting ditched me for a date that night so I made plans with her roommate, Mikala, also an old pal of mine. We met after her shift at the restaurant and sat outside making our plans. A small man walked by and instead of blatantly ignoring him I nodded a congenial, “Hello” in his direction. Something about his eyes suggested that my choice may have been a poor one and I immediately returned to the discussion at hand.
Mikala and I ended up two blocks down at Sister Sorel, a favorite of the locals here both gay and straight. As we sat enjoying our nightcaps I noticed that the guy who had struck my defenses earlier was sitting just two stools over. To make matters worse, the bartender mixed up our orders. I was caught off guard as I looked to see which lucky guy received the smashing India pale ale. It was him. Eye contact was achieved a second time and I would soon be wishing I had stayed with the Irish stout.
I turned to Mikala and asked if he was staring our way.
She replied with a quiet “Yes.”
Great.
Mikala visited the WC and in her three minute absence I managed to involve myself in a slight altercation with a woman that felt justified using the word “fag” in a derogatory fashion. When I refused to call her a dyke to “even the score” she proceeded to try her case to every gay man in the bar seeking any sort of validation for her ridiculous opinion and behavior. Not surprisingly, the small, staring man had befriended the group of people belonging to the poor word choice lesbian and I knew it was prime time for a switch of venues.
We continued to another local hotspot, Stella, which has more space and a less offensive crowd. Just as we were getting settled the entourage we left behind at Sister Sorel staggered in the door. I can’t be certain, but it did seem like Mikala and I were the subject of many hushed discussions between members of the hostile posse. We kept our distance in hopes of salvaging what was left of the evening.
As the night progressed and the liquid courage flowed I narrowly escaped several attempts by the small, staring man to engage me directly. Unfortunately, there is only so much you can pull off with fake mobile call tactics and he finally caught me off guard.
Standing on his tip toes he slurred into my ear “What difference do you find with the people of Boston and the people of the rest of the US?” I took a deep breath and looked down at him long enough to say “Sometimes they can be very annoying.”
He grimaced in defeat and returned to the growing group of drunken patrons. Glancing in their direction I took notice that the self-proclaimed “dyke” was making out with some guy and eating something from another restaurant’s take-away container with her fingers.
A few more of my Bostonian friends had joined us by the time the persistent and completely pissed small, staring man returned for yet another go with me. His entrance statement this time was “Has anybody heard the new Pink album?” I was done. The time for diplomacy had expired. I hissed into his face, “Yes, my favorite song is the one that goes something like “don’t talk to me, keep your drink and give me the money? I can really relate to that”.
The level of hostility I exhibited cued one of my newly arrived friends to intervene. He sent me to the gents and tried to neutralize the situation with the aid of Mikala. Somehow even after all she had been through she still had faith in the power of kittens, rainbows and bubble gum to make everything better. That didn’t last long. Once the small, staring man thought he could intimidate her with a little close proximity verbal abuse Mikala traded in the sunshine approach from some good old fashioned whoop ass and shut him down pronto. The small, staring man finally departed with a half-assed finger gesture that nearly caused him to lose his balance.
I was happy to see him leave, but most of the night has been tainted and it was nearly closing time anyway. I started to feel bad about my thoughts and actions towards the little man, who meant no harm and probably just wanted to make some new friends albeit in an intrusive and rude manner. I am not usually impatient, but I just didn’t have it in me this time around. I think the encounter with the “lesbian” at Sister Sorel served to strip all of my patience reserves for the night.
I am human first and foremost and deserve to be left alone to enjoy my time by myself or with my friends. I tried to be kind, polite and even used sarcasm to get the message across without hurting or even worse, embarrassing him. We all have our limits and he pushed me to mine. There are people with no social filtering mechanism and when they are inebriated it seems like nothing will get through to them. If he has any recollection of the night at all it will probably be what a raging asshole I was to him. He will gloss over his terrible behavior and label me a jerk for not inviting him into my circle. Perhaps my guilt is somewhat misplaced, but at least I took the time to see the situation from his perspective.
Dearest Johnny,
It’s enough to put you off going out! But what a great story and character sketch you got out of the experience. How great, “The small, staring man finally departed with a half-assed finger gesture that nearly caused him to lose his balance.” Right up there with Hunter S. Thompson — should be entitled “Fear and Loathing: On the GLB Trail.”
Ahh, I see you had one of those Fabulous Nights Out in Boston, Johnny. Sorry you had to put up with it. As a NYC transplant wh has lived here since 1985, the stand-offishness to plain rudeness that seems acceptable ‘coin of the realm’ in Boston’s gay nightlife scene has never failed to leave me speechless. It’s ironic that it takes so long for folks to take someone in here in Boston, but once you’re in, it seems to be for Life. Why the Reserve & R,udeness? Why not explore possibilities with people instead of pulling up the drawbridge and going , “….And who do You know that I know?”
IMO, This problem has gotten very concentrated, as so many folk who don’t act that way have given up on going out. The fun folks who could be in the clubs stay out of the ‘tear someone down’ standard that seems to be the water many Boston clubbers swim in. the Friendly “dolphins” stay away, leaving the ’sharks’ and ‘piranhas’ of the club scene to rule.
My solution? I’m going out, pumping a New Message, which my momma taught me when I was a wee sprout: “Find something Nice to say about someone, or don’t say anything at all!” Where I stand is MY Playground, and Everyone is welcome in my Playground, but Haters need not apply. In other words, Bostonians, you “play nice with me, or YOU don’t play with me at all! ***Snap!*** ‘Kay? Good, I knew we could have an understanding……
Now, let’s Learn from Providence, RI Club Promoter Chris Harris and His Crew: Friendliness WERKS, People!!! You Can SO do it! Stop the “Stand & Model,” cut loose, & HAVE FUN!! YOU CAN DO THIS AT HOME!!!!
Peace, Pleasure, and the Pursuit of Happiness!
D. J. Perez
hrttp://www.myspace.com/djperezma/
I can relate. I seemed to have gotten in with some really good people really ealry which allowed me to see the attitude from a far and not have to experience it; I know its there.
I always found that being nice and friendly was easier than not but unfortunatley that has not seemd to sink in with the masses.
Hats off to you for spreading the word of friendliness, I’m definitely one of your tribe!
Your tale and reply has never rang so true. Sometimes discretion is the better part of valor. I have fought and have walked away. Funny thing, in retrospect, it can take nerve for both! 26yrs in combat arms Army.
for some reason, no one ever fucks with me. i don’t get it.
but were i in your shoes, i’d have duct taped him to something and then left.