Tonight at the show, a person who I do not know called me a faggot for the first time in my life. I am lucky to have gone so long without ever having had it happen, and yet it was strange. If you’ll allow me, I’d like to tell you the tale.
As you know, I work the door at a monthly body-positive women-friendly burlesque show in Northampton, MA. The show is hosted and produced by a drag queen and performed in the lesbian capital of the world. Basically, this place couldn’t get much more granola if it were produced at Quaker Oats factory on bring your own tofu day. As I was working the door, the following exchange took place:
Dude: I’d like a VIP ticket.
Me: Those are all sold out, unfortunately. You can only buy them online.
Dude: It doesn’t say that anywhere.
Me: It’s all over the Facebook page for the event.
Dude: Show me where it says that.
Me: *shrug of “I don’t know what to tell you.*
Dude: [as he’s walking away] Yeah, plead the fifth, faggot.