I work in various college bar bathrooms for tips. I wear a tuxedo shirt, a bow tie, and slacks. I provide patrons with cigarettes, cigars, condoms, gum, calogne, hair gel, a hand towel and soap, and conversation. It is my job to sell myself to you. The moment we make eye contact, I've got a read on you. In the millisecond that you walk by, I must know whether it is better to give you a head nod, say 'whassup boss,' throw a hand out for a physical greeting etc. I work to make you comfortable that I'm watching you piss. Do you shit louder than the club sound system pumping out lil wayne mixed with the police? No worries, I gotchu. Have a smoke or a mint. Got knows i need both. I keep track of who is in what stall so that future customers don't walk in on you, and place myself in all the conversations you bullshit with your boys. If it feels right, I speak on the matter without invitation. Other times, patrons come to me. I have to make you feel more comfortable, make sure you leave the bathroom feeling good about yourself, good about your night, and that you have good chances with whoever you're eyeing on the dance floor. Essentially, it is my job to flirt with straight men.
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first night
As with any job, the first shift gives one a case of the butterflies, but this is a whole new level. As i watch people leave the stall, I struggle not to follow their energy. I'm looking at them eye to eye, they go for their zipper, so go my eyes...look up look up look up.
I give the patron a head nod and extend my arm for the towel. "Nah, boss. Mah dick's clean." "Alright, have a good night," I respond nervously. Prior to the shift I had my best pep talk about the job and being queer. "I have passing privilege," I say to myself, "make sure you don't give anyone the eye....."
As my night goes, most of my conversations, start out with the customers talking to me "you're new huh?" I nervously respond to every conversational piece. I am an intruder, an impostor. I am killing the bathroom vibe. I This is a dynamic i feel helpless to rectify.
Finally, a patron 'breaks the fourth wall' so to speak and puts his arm around me. "My maaaan," he says loosely and loudly "I've tippped you but have no more cash. Do you drink?" "Yeah, vodka cran," I say nervously. "No no no nooo," he responds, "I just tried this drink tequilla sunrise! It's awesome. It gives you a big big boner!" As he says this he wraps his left arm around his bent right making and shakes his fist ala a sumerisle native in the wickerman (1973). "I'll have that," i respond trying not to blush.
