I didn’t have a car while I lived Phoenix. Because of that I mostly rode my bicycle, ran or took the bus. At one point I worked at the Doubletree Inn and lived about five miles from there. I used to run back and forth to work, and shower when I arrived. It was part of my fitness regimen at the time. But sometimes I would take the bus. Since I lived on Camelback Road there were always buses running, unless you needed an early ride. As the Catering Manager, sometimes I needed to get to work prior to 5am. You guessed it. No buses running that early. So on this particular day I was walking to work in my waiter’s outfit.
Now this may seem a bit of a generalization, but it seems like there are a lot of gay waiters. And busboys, as the saying goes, will fuck anything that moves and a few things that don’t, so maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised to be thought gay as I was walking along in my black pants, white shirt and bow tie.. But anyway I was walking and hitch hiking to work and got picked up, in two ways. (I did think it was only one way, honestly.)
So this guy picks me up and seems nice and “normal” not gay in the least. okay, how do I justify that? Well, it was the early 80′s and gays had to be more careful back then. It still is no picnic, but there is more tolerance and even some acceptance. More liberal folks (me included) actually do have the gay friends we say we do. Not like the “some of my best friends are colored” sort of bullshit you’d hear from racists and homophobes, but truly. I have a lot of gay and lesbian friends and I love them. Well, some of them. Some of them are assholes just like the rest of the population. Their assholes are just used as an entrance, as well as an exit (in the case of gays.)
So on with the plot already.. This guy gives me a lift and I am a bit groggy. He seems a bit stoned, I will say, but when he says “how about some blow?” I thought he was talking about coke. cocaine, you dig? And I replied, “cool. and to think I was looking forward to a cup of coffee.” He pulls off into a side street and asks me “what’s your name?” and I say, “Roger” and he says, “I always at least like to know someone’s name first.”
Which I thought was kind of strange, but he’s also going to give me a line of coke, so I move along with it. Whatever.
So he reaches out and starts to undo my belt. And I’m like, “What the…?” as I open the door and leap out of his car. He did give me a ride for a couple miles, so I give him a bit of an explanation, like, “sorry, I misunderstood. I thought you meant do I want a line of coke, that kind of blow.” He offered to still give me a ride to work, but by now I was totally freaked the fuck out, and didn’t want this guy knowing where I worked. Knowing I was a waiter downtown somewhere was already too much info. Who knows he could have been a stalker too. I was really fucking cute in those days sort of androgynous looking, and I don’t need any trouble. Skinny androgynous naive white boy. Better play it safe.
I took off down the alley and booked out of that scene quick. I was shaken, but later found it pretty amusing. It’s funny now as I type it thirty years later..
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