...before news of my Happy Hour adventure got around town. Well, as I've said many times over the years, this IS a small town. News (read that gossip) travels faster than the common cold!
Though this was to have been my day off, I was pressed into service, if only to open the door for employees and get the cash registers and computers ready for opening. Linda, the GM had an important errand to run and couldn't be in 2 places at once. Though I am sure I've seen her perform that trick at some point in the past.
As staff arrived, they confronted me with the "rumor" of last Friday's rendezvous and asked if it was true. Most know that I have been frugal over these past 4 years as I dug out of heavy debt, but had no idea that I now had a bit of cash in my pocket. It was a very new thing to them. They've never known me that way and I dare say, they probably had a difficult time visualizing me in such a situation. (Sad that, isn't it?)
After affirming the obvious, there were those expressing interest in getting together for something similar in the near future. I was a bit shaken at first. I mean, I am old enough to be the father (or grandfather!) of these delightfully gentle people. I am not quite sure what it is that draws them to want to socialize with this venerable codger...but they do, for some reason.
I like these people, though I've had no social experience with them other than our annual Holiday Party. So there's that.
Oddly enough, I have never connected with groups of gay men my age, and for whatever reasons, have not been able to adjust to their way of thinking. Most of them are from an era (yes mine, too, but I was an activist while many of them were in hetero marriages) with a very different way of viewing life and how being openly gay terrified them at the time. I have no such baggage and little patience for those who continue to carry the past around with them. They view me as an odd-ball, a curiosity, or threat, if they view me at all.
Anyway, tomorrow after my shift, a server and a chef will take me in tow for high times at Happy Hour somewhere, though the venue has yet to be established by the chef. It was all her idea; I'm going along for the ride. It should be fun - and I am ready for some fun.
And so it goes.
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Just what the doctor ordered: Have more fun and keep some marinated olives handy for the days you're not painting the town red.
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