it's been a long couple of weeks with school, holidays, and rent. what follows is a general recap of the 6 month stint that is this job...i started the blog a little late.

it was my second ever shift at one particular night club. still very nervous. i'm still not really used to talking to any of the patrons at this point, and if i don't completely fumble over human interaction i'd treat it as a plus. i still was quite scared of homophobia at the time; worried that i'd give off a gay vibe.

one particular customer struts on in.

'how's it going, sir?'

he doesn't respond, he just looks at me with somewhere between puzzled and very discontent.

'shit, that was weird, hope i didnt give him any strange vibe. wait it out, it will come naturally soon enough,' i think to myself.

as he walks through the threshold to the stalls, a strange smell crawls up my nose, like a cresendo of crickets that start to sing at dusk.

UGH YOU FARTED! and the whole time i was blaming that awkwardness on myself. i knew his half eyebrow raise wasn't on purpose.

more recently, i saw a patron who reminded me of Phillip Seymour Hoffman. maybe i see it more because i'm looking for it, but telling patrons that they remind you of famous people is always good. i happen to like hoffman--he's a total qt--but with this guy i kind of struggled.

'who's that?' he asked.

'he's in the big lebowski' i say, then i think, he's alos in capote--shit don't tell a guy he reminds you of a gay character, he's in boogie nights, fuck!, ummm, 'oh yeah, i say, 'he's the rock journalist in almost famous, too...umm he's the reporter in red dragon...'

'i don't know who that is,' he says, 'i've seen big lebowski though.'

'he's the assistant to the big lebowski...her life is in your hands dude, ya know?'

oh that guy? c'mon, man, i was thinkin brad pitt.

'haha, dude it's totally a compliment, PSH rules! and you really look nothing like brad pitt, dude'

'oh it's like that?'

'it is what it is...'

after i sold out my first batch of condoms, i never bought them again. from getting them stolen by my friends, to just never really selling them i figured it wasn't worth it. plus EVERYONE always said, 'get magnums. if you had those i'd get three!'

apparently everyone has a big dick. a few weeks ago i figured, hey, put up or shut up. i was gonna get magnums and regulars, but a [lady] friend of mine says, 'c'mon given magnums or regulars every guy is gonna choose magnums. plus, who is gonna not take a condom because their dick isn't big enough. no one is gonna admit that to you.'

i agreed.

boy was i wrong.

'haha, man' a patron begins, lookin at the condoms, 'i'm not even gonna lie. i can't use that.'

'heh, i figured everyone would be all about it. so many people talk about their super dick you know'

'yeah, all talk' he says. 'only 8% of the dick having population needs magnums. i'm perfectly okay with being in the other 92%.'

'well, hopefully some of them are here tonight. or at least they have magnum egos.'

'also, i'm not washing my hands.'

'alright, your choice, you gross bastard.'

'haha,' he laughs, then extends his hand for a shake.'

'nah you didn't wash.' i put out my elbow, and he responds in kind.

'elbows are handshakes with condoms' i say.

'haha, have a good night, dude'

'you too, man'



a few patrons walk in together.

'oh shit, lemmie get a magnum.'

'two bucks.'

'two bucks?! thasa pack! now lemmie ask you a question. are you fuckin with these?'

i throw up a finger.

'c'mon son, you don't need these, hook me up.'

'sorry man, two bucks or nothin'

two muscle head patrons walk in together. they approach me intensely.

'you dude,' one says, lifting up his sleve, 'who's bigger?' he flexes his bicep.

i, grinning, turn to his friend and await his muscly display.

he lifts up his sleeve and flexes as well. i turn back to his friend, who once again 'struts' his bicep into my face. i turn back to his friend, he does the same.

'hmmm,' i say, drawing up anticpation, 'which one is bigger? define bigger? bigger is better right?'

'oh yeah,' they both say, 'bigger is definately better.'

'well, i'll be honest. yours is longer, and yours is thicker. it's so hard to choose.'

'you gotta choose!' he says, flexing hard.

'hmm, longer or thicker. i guess it depends how you like it. show me again.'

they raise their sleeves and flex extra intensely this time. i'm the judge of a bathroom body building contest. i drag slowly on a black and mild....

'hmm, longer or thicker...long's got nice tone, but i guess i'm gonna pick thicker. it's got a little more umph, and is a little tan, and i like that.'

'yessss!' he says victoriously.

i shake my head and sip on my gin and tonic.

after they leave another guy walks out of the stall.

'ya' see? this is totally okay, cause you weren't talking about their dicks. arms are totally understandable.'

'haha, yes i was. i mean, their arms are their cocks. at that point. are we splitting hairs?'

golden showers and whiskey sours

oh boy, a lot has happened in a week. i covered for a friend so i worked three shifts. there's a lot to talk about, so hop on that hog in the rear view mirror and ride that sweet wave of man.

one of the nights this club had no music. how terrible! not only do i have to stay in the bathroom, but now i can't even jam out to anything while i wait around. i'm freaking out, i start pacing jumping up and down, running in circles, it's always very awkward when i'm mid some particular mindnumb cure all move and someone walks in. after i tire myself out, my boredom evolves into singing songs to myself. also pretty awkward as people walk in...

"hey, how's it going, dude?" I ask.

"alright, man," he says with little conviction.

"yeah, dude, what's up with no music? how the hell do they expect to get people here? i'm going crazy," I complain.

"yeah i hear that," he says.

"i was pacing and shit, but now i've started singing to myself. it's kind of awkward when the door opens and i'm like 'doo da doo...no i wasn't singing mariah carey while emulating her poses. *cough*"

"haha, yeah but that one mariah carey song is the shit, man."

"hell yeah, she's got some good stuff. what's the one you're thinking of?"

"fuck, i dunno. it was a single...i can't place the melody or remember the words, though."

"damn, man i was thinking of one when i said that, but now i've lost it."

"dude, we gotta figure out what this song is, it's gonna wrack our brains!"

"haha, yeah, was the melody like...*proceed to try to bust out something between honey and fantasy.

"nah, man, we're so close though."

"alright, alright, alright," i say frantically, "we've got this. was the melody 'doo do do dum doo doo doo da doo da dum?"

"that's the one! fuck yeah!

"what's the song called?"

"aw c'mon man, don't push it. we both got the melody!" we proceed to sing it together.

"and then! it's like 'yoouuu and i will always beeee...."

he blows up the lead vocal track "youuu andd iii youuu andd iiii"

"oh don't you know you can't escape me..." i look for him lost on the words.

"...cause you will ,always be my baby!"

"YEAAH, that's it! and we'll linger onnnnn.... fuck yeah dude! you're the man, that was the shit!

"fuck yeah that's the shit," he says, "don't let people hate on mariah, or you for liking her, she's awesome."


a while later, a man walks up and small, intricate, 'chemical-like' tattoo peaks out under his sleeve on his right wrist.

"hey man, that's a pretty nifty tattoo," i say, "what is it?"

"oh, it's a dopamine molecule."

"oh, cool, what does that do?"

"well," he begins, "dopamine controls all your motor functions and allows you to make smooth movements. my grandma had parkinson's disease, so this is kind of a tattoo for her."

"that's cool," i say.

"dopamine also controls a lot of your emotions, and personality and stuff, so it's pretty cool."

"definately," i say.

"your dopamine receptors are also effected," he chuckles, "if you do any psychotropic drugs like mushrooms or LSD."

"ooohh haha, so it's a grandma and tripping tattoo, very nice. or is it a tripping grandma tattoo ;)?"

"haha," he chuckles, "it's versatile."

after he leaves another patron walks up to me with a huge grin on his face.

"what the fuck, man? where else are you gonna learn all this random shit about someone? now you know his grandma had parkinsons, that he knows a little about brain chemistry, and that he's done or does do crazy drugs. in like 2 minutes, you know all this crazy shit about this random person you don't even know!"

"yeah, man, this job is nuts. people talk about some crazy shit in here," i say.

"alright, dude, the craziest thing you've seen, GO!"

"shit, dude, thassa tough cookie. hrrm...i wore a skirt in here last week, but that wasn't as crazy as i thought it would be...uhhh...this guy mooned me once...alright alright i got it. one time these two guys were pissin and one look right over the partition just starin at his boy's junk!"

"he what?"

"oh yeah dude, just vibin on it for like 15 seconds, not even tryin to hide where he's spyin, and then he just goes into this kinda mopey tone...

'damn dude, next to yours my dick is tiny!'

"no way...." he says in disbelief

"fucking, way, dude, and i swear they forgot i was even there. so i'm just smoking trying to keep quiet as his friend just kind of comforts him..."

'nah, dude, don't worry about it, you get mad girls, you're alright.'

"hahahaha whoa," he says.

"haha yeah and he's not trying to be patronizing but i mean what can he do? this dude just like set himself up there's really nothing you can do. you could lie, but assuming the other dude has a super cock or whatever i mean he ain't gonna believe that. so eventually, man i just crack up, and they turn around, they're in shocked!"

'oh, shit this bathroom guy thinks we're gay!'

"...and shit man, they needed me to know they were straight, and i don't give a shit, man"

"yeah," he says, "i could give two fucks about anyone's shit."

"yeah man, i say, "and they're all handed me money 'we're straight we're straight' and i'm tryin to tell em that it doesn't matter to me, and that i see crazy shit like this all the time and it's all gravy, but they won't leave till they tip me 5 bucks!"

"hahaa, that's pretty wild man," he says.

"nothin out of the ordinary, though," i say as he walks out, "be easy man."

"you too!" he shouts as the door closes.

there are good times, though, when someone makes a solid effort to squash homophobia, or at least let me know they don't support it.

"yo, pimpin, what's good?" one says.

"i'm chillin, man, can i get you anything?"

"yeah yeah yeah, we both need to get a spray."

"alright, you got it."i recommend this (Le Male by jean paul gaultier). a lot of people knock it cause it's a dudes body and they think that's gay or some shit, but they're idiots. this shit smells so nice. it's the best one we've got."

"hell yeah, that's dank, dude" he says. "and that shit is just plain ignorance!"

"you're telling me," i say.

"we 'preciate it, boss, you have a good one."

"thanks, ya'll, you have a good one as well."

a 6ft plus dude walks out of the stall and up to the sink. he looks at the colognes skeptically.

"pfft, nah, i got my own scent!" He proclaims. He then takes his hand and waves over his chest and lower torso.

"i've been brewin it all day, baby" he says.

"hey man, some people dig that au naturale! ;)"

one of my regular bathrooms has two urinals of different height. one is at about 'average' crotch spot for guys and the other is much lower. it's the 'kiddie' sized urinal as it has been dubbed by a lot of patrons.

as both are being used, the guy at the low one complains, "man what the hell is this shit. i feel like i'm 'bout to piss on my shoes or somethin'"

"at least you don't get all that back splash," his friend responds.

"it's just weird, if i'm peeing this low it's usually into a girls mouth!"

i laugh.

"dude, gross, thanks for the imagery," his friend complains.

"nah, it ain't gross, if she's into it you definately gotta oblige, right?" he asks, turning to me.

"definately, dude, if i'm with someone and they want to do weird shit, whatever man, i'll do that shit. if she's into getting peed on, or peein on i don't give a fuck. you gotta step up and get down on some weird shit sometimes," i say. "i looove raisinets, i'll eat em out of an ass crack," whatever!

"you see? this man knows whassup!"

"yeah, man," i say, "when it comes down to it, everybody is into weird shit i imagine. you just gotta give it up."

"eh, i think i draw the line at peein in some girl's mouth," his friend says, "i don't think i could do it."

"well," he says, "that's why i'm getting all of em at the club, and you're on lock by some chick who's out of town."

"fuck you, bro, man dating sucks."

"hey," i say, "when you got it you hate it but when you don't, you want it" *shrug*

"ain't that the truth, be easy man," one of them says as they leave.

"have a good night, ya'll."

following their exit, this guy comes out of the full stall, kicking the door open and pushing his chest out. *crasssssshhhhhhh*

"nah, dude, if a girl asks me to pee in her mouth, i say alright i'm cummin in your ass."

"hey man, do your thing," i say cracking up.

the man on lock is a classic dynamic. no man will complain more about not getting any at the club than the man who's there with his girlfriend.

"man," he says, "this girl keeps dancing on me, and then lookin at my girlfriend and my girl is just giving me the evil eye! fuck dude!"

"shit, man, being locked down at the club is rough," i say, "i bet shedances with other guys."

"if she does, i'll be pissed!" He exclaims.

"alright, so it ain't like that, but what about this other girl?" I ask.

"damn man, she was friends with me before i started dating my girlfriend. we've always been flirty, but nothing crazy, and now whenever i go out with my girl she's all over me! it's fucked!"

"damn, man, and your girl don't dance with you?"

"not when she's all pissed off at this other chick!"

"so this girl who your friends with is giving you love, and your girlfriend ain't. fuck man, maybe talk to her about loosenin up, try and get em both or do an open relationship?"

"nah, she won't go for that."

"you gotta work something out. if your friend who you flirt with is grinding on you, and your girl ain't blowin you up, maybe it will work itself out."

"nah, i dunno, i don't WANT the other girl, i want my girlfriend."

"true, true, well it's gotta be rough getting danced on when you can't dance back. all that hot loving in your dead in the water."

"yeah," he says, handing me a dollar.

"thanks, man" i say, "you wanna cu--*cough* err gum for that?"

happy hallopeen.

i decided to dress up on the job this year--for my saturday night halloween eve shift --with help from a fellow employee, i got made up with some fabulous curled and mascaraed eye lashes, luscious eye shadow and rosy cheeks. i donned some fun purple tights and a school girl skirt from my own collection, had to wear the tuxedo shirt and bow tie though. as i walked--strutted?--up to the door i wondered if they'd even let me into the bar. when the door guy saw me he started laughing.

"that's too funny, man," he said.
"phew," i said, relieved, "glad you like it man, happy halloween."

as i walked through the bar, i got a few reactions, some long stars from guys, to slightly cracked smiles from girls. some of the bartenders winked at me, themselves in tiny leotards plus cat ears and tales. mrrrruuuuu.

the first few people who walked in didn't even acknowledge my get up. i was a little surprised. maybe they were thinking about it though. who knows. the first person who did, did so kind of strangely.

"rockin the kilt tonight, huh?"

"yessir," i say, somewhat surprised that i'm reluctant to correct him that it is indeed a fabulous school girl skirt. i wonder why i didn't correct him, i think to myself.

it's a really slow saturday night, i wonder where everyone is. maybe at halloween keggers. the exciting tension of serving up four bros--they get really gay on each other in groups--while wearing this outfit just seems like it won't ever come. i walk out of the bathroom and there is literally no one in this bar. i walk across into the adjacent bar, to check on a fellow employee. he seems to be doin alright, as it looks a little slow, but not dead. all of the sudden grateful dead's scarlett begonias comes on the PA and i start gettin down in between guys playin dart board and the main dance spot. i get a lot of deer in the headlights looks from these guys, and a few "YOU'RE WEARING IN A SKIRT!" yells. then, a total QT dressed in a white button down, black tie & suspenders, black short shorts, and taped up glasses starts dancing with me. the deers in headlights boys now turn into stink eye boys.

"i'm a nerd!" she says

"cool," i say, "i'm a school girl bathroom guy ;)"

"hahaha, you're crazy, do you dress like this all the time, or just for halloween?"

"both ;)"

"hell yeah!"

we continued to dance together, and make a big scene into grateful dead's shakedown street doing crazy twirls and spins and everything. it was so fun! it was really nice to be able to dance all hippied out to the right kind of music. and it was extra nice to get approached by multiple ladies when all the boys were jockin me.

"i have to get back to work," i tell her sadly.

"aww, you're working?" she asks in disbelief.

"yeah, in the bar next to this one, come visit me."


i'm back in the bathroom...as the door opens...

"whoooooooooah? is this the guys bathroom? you're freakin me out with that skirt, man."

"i'm sorry, i've actually gotten quite a few compliments," i lie, innocently.

"you're lucky it's halloween, man."

i look at him curiously. "is this some kind of passive aggressive violent threat?" i think to myself, and i ask with my body language.

"i'm just fuckin with you, guy," he reassures me, "i just wasn't ready for that."

"it's cool, man, i just danced with a couple ladies, and all their guy friends looked mad confused, it was good stuff," i say.

"hey man, just make sure you don't pop a chub," he says.

"haha, nah, i got briefs man, i'm covered," i say.


since the bar was so dead, we closed early. the drag bar fun must come to an end. i make my way over to a pizza place, to fulfill my drunchies craze.

as i'm eating, these drunk guys are getting out of hand, but they are saying some funny stuff. i look back at them a few times, some with an ugh you're being annoying, and others because they made me lol. the cook, stands over the counter and tells them they need to chill. as they continue to be obnoxious, i continue to watch them.

eventually, one of them gets at me.

"hey, why you keep looking back here? guys, look at that dude. look at that fucking faggot!"

"fuck you," i say, throwing up the finger.

one of them stands up, "you wanna get jumped?!"

i shake my head and laugh, "wow, you're really gonna threaten to jump me?"

"there's six of us, motherfucker!" he says.

"yeah, and if a small guy like me is a threat to the six of you, i really don't know what to say. that's pretty weak, though."

the manager/cook, B, jumps in, "yo, don't threaten my customers. this guy is tight, he comes in here every week and doesn't bother nobody, always chills out. don't fuck with him."

"whatever, you plantation nigga," one guy responds, "we'll take you any time any day."


"well," B says suprisingly calm, "i get up at 4am, see you then."

"4?" one says puzzled, "i'm from the 9-5-4 bitchass plantation mothafucka. you know where i'm from?"

one of his friends tries to calm him down, "shaddup, you're from boca!"

i laugh to myself at this riled up rich drunk guy threatening the man who's making him food. so it goes to obnoxious drunk dudes. the thing is, i'm positive i've met each of these guys in the bathroom, and they're usually alright. once you leave the club, shit gets weird in a whole different way.

eventually the rest of the guys at the table convince their loud friend he's out of line, and they all leave. i finish my food and walk up to B.

"you alright, man?" B asks.

"yeah, man, i can handles that shit. thanks for backin me up. you alright?"

"yeah, i'm good, man," B says, "next time i see those chumps i'mma get em. and it ain't me backin you up, we backin us up. they fuck with anyone. they fuck with us," B says.

"hell yeah, dude, thanks a lot," i say.

"you got it, man, i ain't gonna let people fuck with my customers, especially ones that kick it n shit," B says.

"thanks again, see you soon," i say.

"peace," B says.

as i'm walking out to my friend's car someone makes a comment...


"yo, what the fuck are you wearin'?"

"i'm a bathroom guy in a skirt and tights, man, happy halloween."

"oh, so cause it's halloween, you can wear a skirt and shit?"

"yup, or you know, any day of the year if i feel like it," i say coyly.

"are you gay?"

"if you like," i say, laughing.

"fuck you, i'll kill you if you say you're gay!"

i begin to walk away quickly. once we're at a distance i turn back, and acknowledge him.

"WHAT?!"

"that's not very niiiiiiiiice," i say.

he puffs out his shoulders and begins power walking towards me.

i quickly open the door, as he speeds up.

"H, we need to go!" i said.

"why?" she asks.

"this dude told me he was gonna kill me, and is coming after your car."

"ummm, shit. is he close?"

"he will be if we don't get out of here."

as we backed out he speeds up and begins running after us.

"fuck, he's following us," E says.

"he won't catch us, i say relieved, "phew thanks, H. there's nothing like ending a shift with a threat one your life!"

great poise in the pocket.

i had my first shift on a football night on monday, october 4th. what fantastic social lubricant! we're talking serious man flirting. when a dolphins fan came in, his body slumping down, drowning his imminent defeat in whatever cheap beer cemented his coming week's failure, i assured them of worse things.

"i'm a bucs fan," i'd say, putting my hand on a jersyed shoulder. "at least you have a chance."

"my week is fucking over, bro" he responds. "i'm not even gonna go out this weekend!"

in the wake of his sadness i offer a cigarette or a hand wash, he doesn't bite. looks like we're both stayin in.

a patriots fan comes in. i perk up to meet his joyous attitude.

"yoooo," i say, "did you see that kick return?! so so sweet!"

"fuck yeah, baby, patriots forever! you rootin for 'em too?"

"actually, i'm a bucs fan, and i guess i'm rootin for the 'fins since they're down. but i can still appreciate crazy plays like that. that was sooo dirty."

i move like i'm dodging. "skiiirrrrrt"

"damn the bucs? i'm sorry, bro"

"ah, whatever, we're 2-1, we have a chance. so are you here with a buncha friends or what?"

"yeah, dude, and they're all dolphins fans!"

"that's so kickass, i bet you just talk sooo much shit right now."

"dude, you have no idea. the shit talking is endless."

as the game gets more one sided, the football talk becomes less fun. all the dolphins fans have completely resigned, and it's no longer a thrill for patriots fans that they're winning. it has devolved in a regular, slow night.

and then

a man comes in about 6'2, terribly gelled fauxhawk, ed hardy-like shirt, acid washed jeans, good physical shape. somewhere between a model, and a man doing drag of himself.

he asks, "yo if you were a girl/gay (couldn't tell which one he said) would you wanna fuck me?"

i grin and bat my eyes, unable to otherwise respond.

"oh no, i'm not gay or anything, i just need a confidence booster."

he looks in the mirror, pulls his sleeve up and flexes a slightly toned pasty bicep.

"you'd hit that right?"

i sip on my drink till it makes an annyoing slirp sound.

just oneuh them days, don't take it personal

I grunt as i carry my supplies to this musty bathroom. I cross the threshold and the stench of stale urine and cigarettes chokes me out. "Ughhhh..." I do my best to maintain balance as i dodge piss puddles. it's like i'm playing in aftermath of a rainstorm. my stomping grounds is a dank, terribly ventilated, stale bathroom resurrected back to life by a piss monsoon. tonight's gonna be great, i can feel it.

i'm not supposed to smoke in this bathroom, fuck. i must mask the smell. i have plenty of calogne, but that's like pouring perfume on a pig.

first guy comes in.

"how's it going dude?"

"it'll be going much better in a second."

...

"aaahhhh" i avert my eyes as he relives himself two feet from me. i grab for the soap, as he grabs for the flush handle. flushhh! a flash flood of urine careens over my shoes and sprints for the front door.

awesome. i'm standing in piss, working for shit and i'll have to remind drunks not to flush over and over and over and...

all night people are coming in saying "you work here?! you're better than this job!...this job must suck. etc."

i've learned to get used to the homophobia, because most of the time it is the way these guys flirt with each other. most of the time it is not really hateful, it's just the only way they can be sweet to each other.

"look at this faggot right here!" guy points to his friend and puts his arm around me.

"have you ever seen a bigger faggot, dude?"

"uhh--i don't uh- o_O..."

"this guy can take a mean dick!"

"fuck you, bitch i'll bend you over any day!" he responds with authority.

"haha, no really though me and him are gonna smash some bitches tonight!"

"fuck yeah dude, you look really good. this is gonna rule!"

"you look really good too!"

*bam*

in the half second of the last dialogue, their vocal tones, and body language changed. a tiny peak into the parts of their psyches that seemed to want to 'smash' each other. i take a deep drag on a cigarette and as i let the smoke slowly curly out of the bottom of my lip, i grin: i have an intimate secret.

the rest of my night goes terribly rough. i feel i spoke too soon about homophobia. younger guys are coming in and aggressively talking about how i have the worst job in the world, how they can hook me up at a mall kiosk selling beepers and i can kiss this bullshit job goodbye. they're all asserting themselves past my personal space, making it terribly difficult for me to offer soap and push calogne and cigarettes.

eventually, i crack. "yo, i don't give a fuck about your job, you're gonna have to move i can't do mine" "well fuck you then, faggot bitch!"

towards the end of the night i'm crushed. people have treated me like shit all night, i've made no money and i feel i'm so close to punching someone. i hope i don't go off on anyone. then, this big beefy dude comes in, i'm positive he works here, and i'm apprehensive because he gave me shit the night before.

"hey, how's it goin' dude, can i get a cigarette?"

"it's goin' man, pretty bad, you got it, what kind you want?"

he grabs a light and reads my face and body language. as i light up with him he begins...

"dude, don't let these guys get to you. they're shit. you're working, and you need to own that. these guys aren't doing anything but fucking themselves up."

"thanks, man, i know it's just hard." i struggle to let this guy in. since my first experience with him was tense, i'm not too keen to let my guard down, especially considering what is getting to me most is how homophobic all the patrons were. i know this guy is tryin to make me feel better, but he won't be able to make me feel better about that.

as if he knows he's not getting to me positively he repeats himself. "look, man, just know you're working. you've got a job, and that deserves respect. make sure you respect yourself for that, alright?"

"hell yeah, thanks a lot man, i really appreciate it. i've just had to take a lot of shit tonight, and i really feel like i could punch someone. i feel like sitting in the dark," i say desperately.

"you gotta not let em get to you," he responds, "man i'm a homo guy, you know how much shit i have to take at this job?!"

there it is. i light up, and i'm off. a ball of energy that cannot be stopped. "oh my god, dude, the homophobia in here is killing me! it's all these younger cats, man they're so fucking aggressive, and shit. this isn't guys being friendly between each other, most anyways--they're all trying to dominate this space and it makes me want to scream! fuck. i never thought i'd be able to safely talk to someone about this in a bar..."

he puts his right hand out, and i mine and we firmly shake. he drops a 20 in my tip jar. "keep your chin up, man."