Barhopping with Grant

I want to tell you about a surprising, and cheap, form of therapy I discovered a few years back - namely, going to gay bars. Here's the skinny:

I used to work out with a gay dude (I'll call him Grant) I met at my gym, he was your typical Texan transplant: played football in high school, corn-fed, buff as all hell, deep voice, successful in business, and gay. Grant was new in town and always dragging me out to gay bars with him. He knew my sexual orientation but just wanted some company, someone to help him pick up guys, someone to rub hot oil on him, etc.

I found it hilarious, educational, and fun, being put in a hetero girl's shoes for a few hours and having the typically concrete gender roles we all take for granted flipped on their head. If you're a straight man and have never been to a gay bar, its like strolling through the meat section at Albertson's except the ground round smiles back at you, buys you drinks, and occasionally smacks you on the ass.

Anyway, Grant and I would walk into one of the local bars, get some beers, and start playing pool. He'd make eyes at the "hot boys" and immediately, like sharks smelling blood, a few would stroll up and hit on us. In terms of high pressure salesmanship, Tijuana street vendors had nothing on these guys, who exhibited cunning, Napoleonic strategies in their approach. They'd divide Grant and I up in hopes of conquering. In fact, I've stolen this technique and employed it with my own friends in bars, to divide potentially intimidating groups of females into more manageable ones and twos.

Grant always made it clear right off the bat that I was straight (maybe to clarify the fact that he was single, maybe for my own comfort) and the unfailingly forward guys would nonetheless shower me with flattery and marvel at what a "cool straight guy" I was.

One guy was thankful to have someone to talk sports with and complained that "these fags [ed: his words, and he was gay - a problematic reclamation of a once negative epithet similar to the hip-hop community's problematic reclamation of the n-word] can't talk baseball with me," whereupon we talked baseball for awhile. More specifically, we talked shit about eachother's teams - he being a Dogder bum, and I a die hard SF fan (go Giants), but, like all good shit-talkin', our exchange was in good spirits. And more than once, upon learning I was straight, a guy would mention that he knew some models/actresses who were always looking for nice, straight friends of his, and he'd hand me his card.

I have to admit, its an uplitfing experience, and one that women get much more often than men in our society, to receive unabashed compliments from strangers. I always left the bars feeling more secure, confident, and happier than when I went in. "Damn right I look good," I'd think to myself. That could've just been the effects of the free drinks I'd been handed, though.

So, my advice to all you straight guys out there who are feeling a little down on yourself - go to a gay bar, have some drinks and chat with the boys a little. It'll do wonders for your confidence, and at the very least, it couldn't hurt. That is, unless you forget the KY.

-tn

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