A Matter of Convenience

I can tell you the exact moment when I "switched teams." It was last Friday night. I was driving home around 10:45 PM when I realized that I hadn't eaten dinner yet. I called in a carryout order to the Bamboo House in Cockeysville, which is a restaurant and bar. I had ordered from there before, but never on a Friday night.

My first clue that something was amiss was that there was little parking available. When I entered the lobby, I could see into the bar and it was packed. I chuckled to myself when I realized that it was a single's bar for the local 30's to 50's crowd. Since it was a Chinese restaurant, I was kind of surprised, but so long as they had my order ready, I didn't care if they were sacrificing goats to Gozer in there.

There was a guy in front of me, who apparently consumed a drum of Old Spice intravenously before leaving the house. He was complaining to the hostess about something, but oxygen deprivation kept me from hearing. He stalked off towards the bar and walked directly into a lady drinking a martini in the lobby. She managed to keep the drink off of him and apologized, even though it was his fault. He glared at her, refused to acknowledge her apology, and waited by the entrance to the bar. This lead to the following conversation.

Woman: Did you see that? Why is he mad? He ran into me.
Me: Yes, I saw it. I think it's because he's an asshole. (This was amusing because the guy could still hear us.)
Woman: Laughing. Maybe you should be my bodyguard tonight.
Me: Welcome to Cockeysville. It's the asshole capital of Baltimore County.
Woman: More laughter.

At this point, I paid the semi-offended hostess for my food. As I turned to leave, the woman moved closer, grabbed my free arm, and said, "Hi, I'm XXXX. Let me buy you a drink." Considering that I was tired, hungry, and mere minutes away from curing both problems, the only thought that ran through my head was, "Get the fuck off of me, twit." (I despise strangers touching me.) Fortunately, the minuscule part of my brain that dispenses politeness engaged and, somehow, caused me to blurt out, "Thanks, but I'm gay." She muttered something unintelligible and I made good on my escape.

In retrospect, this incident was disturbing because I am not now and have never been gay. If memory serves, any lying that is done in these kind of places is done for the express purpose of getting women and their panties to go their separate ways. Of course, it's possible that I am one of those guys who is gay and just doesn't know it yet. This is highly doubtful, though, since I am aesthetically retarded, and I dance like a very white, very heterosexual man. Thus, I can only conclude that I am conveniently gay, which, I believe, would make me a pseudosexual (as opposed to a bi-,trans-, or homosexual). I'm thinking that this might be the most appropriate alternative lifestyle for me, as I can reap the benefits of snappy fashion and tasteful interior decoration, while passing on the less appealing aspects such as Barbara Streisand and sodomy. Regardless, I spent the rest of the evening eating Mongolian Beef while rocking Papillon on AMC, which, now that I think about it, sounds kind of gay, too.