When I came out of the closet the first time (there were ultimately three comings-out), it was my senior year in college and I had no idea how to meet anyone. I was attending college in the bustling metropolis of Columbus, Mississippi, which even today is not a hotbed of liberal thinking. Not knowing where to turn to find proper companionship, I took the advice of a friend, let's call her Maude, and agreed to meet her friend who was gay. In 1993, living just to the left of the buckle of the Bible Belt, the commonality of sexual orientation was enough to at least agree to meet. As far as I knew, he was the only other gay guy in the state, much less the city.
After Maude's introduction via phone, we made plans to meet the next weekend. On a subsequent call, I discovered he did not have a car, which is not a good sign in a city with non-trustworthy public transportation options. Arriving at the address given, I found he resided at a nursing home. I assumed he was the manager as Maude had assured me his age was somewhere in the nebulous 30s, while mine was a fresh-faced, and adorable, 22.
When he answered the door I was happy he wasn't elderly but disappointed he wasn't very cute or well-dressed. I had been lead to believe, by watching Steel Magnolias, that all gay men are blonde and pretty and wear sweaters and are also named Mark, Rick or Steve and have track lighting. But I wasn't going to judge this man. I was just thrilled to be going on a date!
When he asked where I would like to eat, I mentioned Harvey's, a favorite place for celebratory occasions. A first date is such an occasion, n'est ce pas? His reaction told me of his financial situation so off to Captain Ds we went. For those who don't know, Captain Ds is like Long John Silvers but not as nice. They don't even have good cole slaw, y'all.
Masking my disappointment, I asked him about his work. He made some vague murmurings about "things" and "stuff". When I asked if he worked at the nursing home, where he resided, he smirked and said he did not. When I asked how he came to live in a home for the elderly when he didn't seem to be a cast member from Cocoon, he looked at me, rolled his eyes and made further murmurings about "you know" and "situations" and such. He was making me as tired as his Members Only jacket.
We arrived a Captain Ds and he criticized my choice of entrée as being too expensive and questioned my need for a beverage. When I explained the beverage came with the Meal Deal, he acquiesced but only after I stated I was paying for my food. He then asked if I was going to pay for his food and I begrudgingly agreed, but only because my mother raised me right and, although I was supposedly going to burn in eternal fire for dating a man, I was determined to do my Christian duty and be kind to those less fortunate. I mean, the man lived in a nursing home and was too poor for Captain Ds, y'all. I believe he met the criteria to be deemed less fortunate.
While I pretended to enjoy my beer-battered dinner, he openly ogled several men at the register, which was not only rude but dangerous. This was Mississippi in 1993, people. Was he insane? I wolfed down my food and dragged him to my car to return him to the old folk's home. He asked me in and due to what I can only surmise was naiveté covered in tartar sauce, I accepted the invitation. However, when we sat down on the couch, he immediately picked up the phone, dialed into a chat line and began talking to people he obviously knew well; they called him by name! At $3.95 per minute! No wonder he couldn't afford to buy his own food, Meal Deal or otherwise.
He then offered to put a movie in the VCR. I naively accepted his offer without questioning the title. What filled the screen was not fit to be viewed by man nor beast. It was a dirty movie! Well, I can assure you I left in hurry, filled with righteous indignation, about 15 minutes later. What? I had never seen a dirty movie and I needed to know what I was supposed to be upset about so I could judge him with the appropriate amount of condescension. It was research, people, and you are rude to insinuate otherwise.
The experience was so bad, I didn't go on another date for two years. Of course, mainly it was because I graduated from college and not having made any post-collegiate plans for a career, I had to move home to Tylerpatch and go right back into the closet from whence I had so recently, and timidly, emerged.
And exactly zero of my friends up to and including my newest friends in Southern California, have introduced me to any eligible men. Not one time. Not one man. This is why I'm talking about the past, like someone who lives at a nursing home for no reason.
So, it is on to suggestion #2: Meet Mr. Right at Happy Hour.
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