A couple of blokes and I (ARGH! I'm talking like an Englishman) traveled into the dark entrails of Manchester in search of some night time entertainment. We ended up in the Gay Village, a place I had heard rumors about but have never actually seen. The first indication that we had stumbled into a forbidden zone was the sight of a 6 foot-tall woman with an adam's apple. "Surely," we thought, "that was an isolated incident." Then we tried to get into a club and were told that it was "strictly gay". One of my friends even claimed that he was bisexual and they still wouldn't let him in.
This changed my life in two ways. First, I had never been discriminated against on the basis of my sexual preference before. And second, I now know that people can look down a crowded street, see me, and immediately identify me as straight. The latter is a relief, since I don't stand to gain anything from such confusion.
One of the bouncers was telling us how straight people often "invade" the gay bars. Why a straight person would willingly go into a gay club is beyond me, since, for me anyway, the primary purpose of going to a club and putting up with the crappy music, the stale air, and pretending I can dance is to meet chicks. Going to a gay club fundamentally defeats that purpose. Kinda like a vegetarian shooting animals so they can't eat his vegetables.
The problem is, it's hard to tell a gay club form the outside. If they had names like "Big Gay Al's Big Gay Boat Ride", it would be kinda obvious. What makes it worse is that you can see people doing straight stuff through the windows. Oh well.