If you're happy and you're gay...
A post on Bhav's blog and a related comment reminded me of a gay party/parade I attended in London.
The receptionist at the place I stayed turned out to be one of the leaders of the movement. Of course, the first thing I was told about him upon landing there was that he was gay. And he was Pakistani. A gay Pakistani receptionist at the Indian students hostel in racist London. Who said life ain't exciting?
Anyway, we never hit it off. No no, as in friendly interaction, before you get any ideas. We had a very standoffish relationship - I would be standing asking for my room key and he would be getting off on being mean, or excessively polite (which indicates impoliteness - it WAS London, after all). But he was a nice chap overall, kind and helpful when he wanted to be, and when he was not shagging the pretty-boy Englishman from a good family who was also staying at the hostel, he'd chat to us about how much he loved his partner and was committed to him. I never did understand why we didn't get along, because I made every effort to be friendly. Maybe he thought I was a bit of alright as well in the end, 'cos he giggled shyly when I shook his hand when I was finally leaving the place. He most definitely was not expecting that.
So the gay parade was a big thing, and he invited us lot to a club on a Friday nite. Curiosity more than anything else drove us to the place. We were hoping we wouldn't get hit on and then have to explain that we were straight. Fat fuckin' chance. We looked like fried food junkie sewer workers coming off a 8-hour night shift compared to the well-groomed men there. And the bitchiest deal was that there were hot straight women there as well! Their frustration would have been hilarious, if it wasn't for the fact that we were the worse off for it. They'd look at the gay men, flirt coquettishly, and realise that the guys were just not interested. Then they'd look for the good looking straight men, and find them already with some good looking straight women, or being shown the fine art of being gay by the gay men. Then the women would sigh and look for ANY straight men, and find our slobbering faces grinning gleefully. They'd make a face, roll their eyes for a while, gulp their drinks, take half a step toward us, see us smacking our lips, groan and walk away saying "this just isn't fucking fair!".
Funny, we were thinking the exact same thing.
(to be continued...)
The receptionist at the place I stayed turned out to be one of the leaders of the movement. Of course, the first thing I was told about him upon landing there was that he was gay. And he was Pakistani. A gay Pakistani receptionist at the Indian students hostel in racist London. Who said life ain't exciting?
Anyway, we never hit it off. No no, as in friendly interaction, before you get any ideas. We had a very standoffish relationship - I would be standing asking for my room key and he would be getting off on being mean, or excessively polite (which indicates impoliteness - it WAS London, after all). But he was a nice chap overall, kind and helpful when he wanted to be, and when he was not shagging the pretty-boy Englishman from a good family who was also staying at the hostel, he'd chat to us about how much he loved his partner and was committed to him. I never did understand why we didn't get along, because I made every effort to be friendly. Maybe he thought I was a bit of alright as well in the end, 'cos he giggled shyly when I shook his hand when I was finally leaving the place. He most definitely was not expecting that.
So the gay parade was a big thing, and he invited us lot to a club on a Friday nite. Curiosity more than anything else drove us to the place. We were hoping we wouldn't get hit on and then have to explain that we were straight. Fat fuckin' chance. We looked like fried food junkie sewer workers coming off a 8-hour night shift compared to the well-groomed men there. And the bitchiest deal was that there were hot straight women there as well! Their frustration would have been hilarious, if it wasn't for the fact that we were the worse off for it. They'd look at the gay men, flirt coquettishly, and realise that the guys were just not interested. Then they'd look for the good looking straight men, and find them already with some good looking straight women, or being shown the fine art of being gay by the gay men. Then the women would sigh and look for ANY straight men, and find our slobbering faces grinning gleefully. They'd make a face, roll their eyes for a while, gulp their drinks, take half a step toward us, see us smacking our lips, groan and walk away saying "this just isn't fucking fair!".
Funny, we were thinking the exact same thing.
(to be continued...)
spouted by Non-Sensei at 5/16/2004 09:47:00 PM
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