Chapter 1 (Part 1)

I interviewed with the owner of the bar about a week earlier, this is how it went down:
When I enter the bar, this older man, with a pencil-thin mustache and a suit greats me from a dark corner of the bar. He introduces himself as Charlie. It is as though he materializes out of nowhere. He then invites me to meet with him in one of the other rooms deeper into the bar. This bar, when you enter has two large rooms, which lead to a dance floor. He walks me to near the dance floor, which instantly confuses me because I, like many Jewish men have 2 left feet and couldn’t dance if my life depended on it. As I follow him he stops near a bar, next to the dance floor and puts his melted drink on it. His voice is low, subtle and unassuming. It is hard to hear what he is saying because with every word he says he turns away from me and refuses to give me eye contact. It’s like talking to Ray Charles or I guess someone like him who is alive. He sounds like a Teddy Ruxpin when they have run low on batteries, although less lovable and attractive. Unlike most interviews I have been to in the past, he is like a politician in an odd way and provides more questions than answers. It’s like talking to the Riddler. He seems to be a man of little words who talks with grumbles and eye contact more than actual cohesive conversational words. He doesn’t once look into my eyes during this meeting. It seems that he is looking right past me to something in the distance most of the time. Since this interview is conducted in the middle of a bar, which is covered with mirrors on every wall, I wouldn’t surprise me if he is just pre-occupied and caught off guard by his own awkward reflection in the distance. It’s like chatting in the middle of a fun house. I assume that distance could also be because my curly hair reminds him of Medusa and he had possibly has never seen a frizzy-jewfro like mine outside of it's natural habitat, Lohman's.

He of course glances down at his drink from time to time and swirls the sliver of a lemon-twist, which is when I notice his ugly beige Dockers and at this second he lets out a grumble. I am not sure if that is good or a bad sign. It’s similar to the sound a child or old man makes when constipated. His elusiveness just makes me more interested in working there for some reason. What can I say? I like a challenge.

At the interview, my questions consist of the following: “have you been here before?” followed by “what is your availability?”
I of course lie and flash my Kathy Lee Gifford/clone smile, which I had learn while working at Starbucks a few years earlier, where a fake smile is required before the blood oath. The second part was a joke, so please don’t sue me Starbucks.
Charlie skipped the usual interview question that I love. “Where do you see yourself in 10 years?”
To which I usually want to respond, “breathing” or “outside your window.”

I quickly told him that it’s my absolute favorite bar in the city. I n reality, I have never been inside this place until a month ago, when I turned 21. What I do know is that I need to make some cash to cover living in San Francisco, also known as the expensive shoe-box. I also have some eccentric habits to pay for like food and drinks.

After the questions, Charlie says, “You’re okay with working”… Mid-sentence he just grumbles, looks at me, my resume, me, the bartender who is setting up the bar out of the corner of his eye, his watch, grumbles, smiles and walks away. I assume this means that the interview is over? It feel like one of those bad hook ups, where once you look at them in your bed in sober-light, you have to find excuses of things to do to sound busy and make them leave. Instead of lying and telling me that his roommate or husband was coming home soon he just skipped to the punch and walked away. I leave feeling like I am doing the walk of shame without even having gotten laid, which I must say is less rewarding. I have a feeling that somehow I bombed this time and decide to go to the competing bar around the corner where I proceed to check my dignity at the door as most gays in my situation prior to rehab do and drink my dinner. This is a means to save money, calories, after all, I am on a budget. Once I am delightfully bombed, I go home to write about the situation after of course I make a sandwich from pop-tarts, turkey and Cheetos.