As I mentioned in my restaurant blog, I used to be a chef.
When I went to college, I worked part time as a cook (versus “chef”) at a local racquetball club. Here, I watched all the healthy, energetic and fit people finish up with their aerobics, weight-lifting and squash…
…wander right up to the bar, and have 5 beers and a fried chicken sandwich…
..with fries. SO worth the money to join a gym.
...but I digress...
My boss at the club happened to be gay. He also happened to be Jewish.
I don’t remember actually knowing that many Jewish people back then. In fact, he may have been the first.
I remember I was working a Friday night, and he had to leave by 4 pm. I asked why, and he said he needed to be home before sunset.
I looked at him and said, “Why…are you a vampire?”
Hindsight being 20/20, I now know I should have asked if he was a werewolf…as he would have been OUT at night, and in during the day if he was a vampire. Sometimes I’m so stupid trying to make fun of people.
Anyway, he was gay. Flamboyantly gay. ANNOYINGLY gay.
It didn’t really dawn on me how gay he actually was until he decided to go to a Cher concert (yes, Cher) with a female bartender and her boyfriend, a gigantic burly-manly fireman from the town.
I remember seeing the fireman the following week. When I asked him how the concert was, his faced just dropped in this dejected “…why are you making me talk about this..?” look.
As it turns out, the three of them got pretty drunk at the concert. They were having a great time, the three of them all sitting together…enjoying the music…dancing…
That is, until my gay boss starts yelling at the top of his lungs:
How my gay boss got out of there alive without a fireman’s boot stuffed up his ass is beyond me.
Anyway… back to college. I attend, but I’m not living there my first year. My friend Spike, however, does live in the dorm. As is typical college fashion, there are insane parties every Thursday night. And, as was my custom, I crashed on Spike’s couch, every Thursday night…
...except...maybe...for one Thursday night...
As usual, I don’t remember much of the night. I remember playing drinking games in a room the size of a cubicle, stuffed with 100 horny teenagers. I remember crashing on Spike’s couch…completely obliterated…
…and that’s where my narrative of the night ends.
From Spike’s point of view, it went like this:
At about 2 in the morning, Spike (on the top bunk of his bed) hears me moan and get up. He looks over and sees me drop off the couch, look at him and say, “I’m going to take a piss.”
He says, “Okay.”
I stumble out the door.
…and I never return.
He goes back to sleep (thanks, buddy).
Back to my narrative…
So, I wake up in the morning on the couch, with the absolute worst headache I’ve ever had. I sit up on the couch and open my eyes…
…things start to get into focus after a few minutes…
“…hmmm…this room doesn’t look familiar…”
The furniture was wrong. The lighting was wrong.
…and my chest feels scratchy.
I look down...
I’m wearing a sweater.
I don’t own a sweater.
I turn my head and look over at the bed. From the top bunk, some guy I’ve never seen before is staring at me…interested.
“Good morning,” he says.
At a little after 2 a.m., he’s interrupted in his slumber by the sound of his door opening. He looks up to see me, stumbling all over the place, walk into his room.
He watches as I make my way through his room and stumble over to his couch.
Here, I reach down on his floor, grab one of his sweaters, and pull it over my head. Mmmmm….comfy….
I then lay down on his couch, and pass out.
He shrugs his shoulders, and goes back to sleep (…how many people would do this? Only in college after a party).
After he tells me the story, I head back to Spike’s room who is now awake, and wondering where I was. I can tell he’s really concerned, because after I disappeared he only slept for 7 more hours.
He then looks at the sweater. A hint of recognition comes over him...his eyes widen...
“Um….who’s room were you in?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Room 415.”
His face turns to subtle shock. Then he starts laughing.
“That’s Ken’s room,” he says. Then...a pause...
“Dude…he’s gayer than gay.”
I look at him. I blink.
I’m thinking, “Oh….no….”
I passed out...he's gay…I’m wearing his sweater…and I don’t remember any of it.
I’m praying to God that Ken’s narrative was right.
..although..I’ve always been curious why my farts no longer make noise.