Dave Gets Trapped in an Enclosed Space Tuesday, November 25, 2003
So I get in the elevator with a friendly guy that I’ve never seen before. I love working in a busy downtown building - there’s always different people around to observe. We have the car to ourselves and he strikes up a conversation with me. He has an honest smile. Just about the time I think maybe he’s interested in me and maybe I should flirt with him, the doors open and Jared and his Water Department Posse of straight guys herd into the elevator. Jared and I went to high school together thousands of miles from here. This frustrates me because I’m several time zones away from my home town on purpose. I simply don’t want to see anyone from my tormented childhood. Jared doesn’t just live in the same city as me here on the other side of the continent, he works in the same office building that I do. What are the odds of that? Jared is friendly every time I see him here in New Big City, but I honestly don’t remember if he was one of the people who didn’t really know me but wanted me to be their token gay friend, or if he was one of the people who didn’t know me personally but hated me anyway just because I’m gay. Becoming a Ferris Bueller/Quasimodo hybrid was an unexpected side effect of coming out of the closet at 15 in a town that is not quite rural and not quite suburban and is too big to know everyone but small enough for everyone to be nosy. I think Jared is probably the second type and he must have matured with age (not everyone does) which explains why he’s friendly now. Either way I wish he wasn’t here, violating my new territory and intruding on my freedom/exile. I was here first. I let the Small Town fools have my hometown; I conceded defeat to their stupidity and left to come here. But still I can’t get away from them. Sometimes Jared tries to tell me who else from Small Town is here but I hum “Push the Little Daisies” by Ween in my mind to block out the unwanted information. Jared’s Posse brings a jovial atmosphere into the elevator, and I deduce that they are going out for a group cigarette break and to talk about... whatever it is that straight guys talk about. I should remember more about the dynamics of this type of group from when I was in the Army, but I’ve kept myself removed from this type of environment for a long time. Funny I would join the Army after coming out in high school, but that’s how desperate I was for college money. Anyway, it was fun until they discovered my little secret and sent me home. Jared greets me kindly when he sees me in the elevator, and conversation with Friendly Elevator Guy ends abruptly so Jared can talk to me about nothing. The Posse falls silent when they recognize me. I’ve never spoken to any of them but I realize by their behavior that Jared has told them about me. Their silence and shifty eyes are symptoms of “straight guy trapped in an enclosed space with a gay guy” squeamishness. Or I’m just a flaming queen and don’t know it, and Jared never said a word. No, not possible. I’m butch, damn it! Perhaps I remember more than I think I do about straight guy mentality because I can clearly read the shared cartoon thought bubble floating above their heads - it says: “Please don’t make eye contact with me Mr. Homo... Chicks, I’m thinking about chicks. Yeah, I like chicks. No doubt about it”. However Jared, like every time I’ve time I’ve seen him here in New Big City as an adult, exhibits none of this behavior; even in front of his friends. I’m impressed and consider no longer faulting him for things I can’t fully remember and he may not have done. Then I wonder why he told anyone here that I’m gay in the first place. The jury is deadlocked. We all get out of the elevator on the ground floor, and Jared starts asking me about my holiday plans. I can’t be rude so I walk off with Jared to answer his pointless questions instead of pursuing Friendly Elevator Guy who I will likely never see again. Perhaps I’m afraid to pursue Friendly Elevator Guy, as he might be straight and I would embarrass myself by flirting with him and I’m just using Jared as a crutch. Although, Friendly Elevator Guy did talk to me first. And smile at me for a long moment before he first spoke. I will likely ponder this for the rest of the day. Back at my desk, my cubicle neighbor, Bob, is babbling about something unimportant to me. He realizes I’m not paying attention to him so he calls me “Davy”, and then asks if anyone else calls me “Davy”. Still leaning on the Jared crutch, I immediately flash back to high school locker room taunting where “Davy”(in a mocking tone), along with many other more insulting names, was used constantly. I snap back at Bob with a cold and shrill “No one calls me ‘Davy’! And neither will you!” Bob is a really a nice guy. I shouldn’t abuse him like that. I wonder if Jared was ever cruel to me in the locker room. I consider using him as private sexual fantasy material as was my usual punishment for guys who were awful to me because I knew they would hate it. Well, if they were cute I would do that. Yeah, Jared is kinda cute. Then I remember that Jared, in his present day life, has passed up many opportunities to be cruel to me – including today in the elevator. Jury reluctantly acquits. Truth is I would feel sorry for and be amused by him or anyone else (a few names come to mind) who would still behave so childishly. I wouldn’t really feel threatened enough to need to mentally retaliate in such a perversely self-destructive and pointless way. I’m grown-up now. Supposedly. So I’ll use Friendly Elevator Guy as private sexual fantasy material instead. The frustration smothers me. Is it lunchtime yet?
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