Young Suburban Gays
Last time on Rugged Fox… Over delicious pasta with his cousins, Rugged recounts his first trip to Daddyland. When the three gentlemen embark on a nightcap, the Fox has no idea what he has in store.
“Reservation?” a young woman asked.
Having closed down Nook, the three of us walked in the front door to Shipyard, a trendy chain restaurant in North Vancouver.
“Seriously?” I replied. Looking down at my watch. It was 11:36pm.
The only sound to break the silence that followed came from the tip of her acrylic nail, tapping the iPad.
“Do you have a waitlist?” I whimpered, tucking my tail between my legs.
Taking a seat on a pleather couch next to an electric fireplace, it occurred to me that one part of this moment was real: nature was calling.
“Gentlemen,” I turned to my cousins Drum and Heller, “If you’ll excuse me, I must find the washroom.”
Now, there is something you must know. Last year, I made an executive decision never to ask for directions to a restroom again. Especially when in a restaurant. Working as a server, I am shocked by how many hours of my life I have spent directing humans to toilets. Now, whenever I must get up from a table, I pick a direction and commit. To my surprise, 8 out of 10 times, I end up in a storage closet.
Venturing into the depths of Shipyard, I was shocked to see how busy the restaurant was. While top 40 hits crashed down from the speakers, blended drinks sailed out from behind the bar. The wine must have caught up with me; because suddenly it felt like the entire dining room was swaying back and forth. Spotting a washroom sign, I made a b-line.
““These men were loud, proud, and had absolutely no sense of discretion when it came to a public washroom.””
Having nearly regained my footing, I had no idea I was about to lose my legs.
Stumbling into the washroom, I came to an abrupt halt. Occupying three urinals in front of me were six men in their twenties. Fearing I was seeing double, I did another head count. My math was correct. Mildly shocked, I thought this must be some kind of frat house situation. Surely, only straight men would possess the fearlessness to exhibit such brazenness.
But then I looked down at their shoes.
One high-pitched scream, three “hey girls,” and a “bitch you cray,” confirmed what I did not think possible. These men were not only friends of Dorothy, but they were also best mates with her great grandkids. Before I could think another thought, I felt a tap on my shoulder.
Turning around I saw yet another young buck, dressed in the exact same outfit I wore in 2010.
“I haven’t seen you here before Daddy,” he looked at me wantonly. “Woof,” he mouthed.
“AHHH!” I screamed, and then ran.
Barreling forward, I barricaded myself in a stall and locked the door behind me. Surrounded on all fronts by young suburban gays, I felt like I was lost at sea. These men were loud, proud, and had absolutely no sense of discretion when it came to a public washroom.
“Have fun in the closet!” I heard one of them shout, as the parade moved on out.
When the coast was finally clear, I was able to find some relief. Washing my hands, I looked up in the mirror, and could barely recognize the man staring back at me. He looked tired, conservative, and chock-full of sensibilities. Ugh! As if! This was not a look I had sported before, and certainly not a visual I intended to keep up. Splashing water on my face, I tried to rinse off the judgment I felt seeping from my pores.
Why was I not happier for these young men? Why did I feel instead, like somehow, I missed out?
Returning to the dining room, I found Drum and Heller sitting at a high top.
“What’s the matter cous?” Drum asked, pouring me a glass of pink wine.
“Yeah cous, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” echoed Heller.
“Gentlemen,” I took a sip of wine. “Be careful in these parts. The hour is late, and the men are thirsty.”
Next on Rugged Fox…one bottle of pink wine later, Rugged catches the last sea bus back downtown. As he crosses the water, he cannot help but think about his recent relationships: real and make-believe.
