Chapter 7, a must read

Chapter 7.

Being there is like living inside the eye of a traveling tornado. That is a tornado covered in glitter, who loves to dancing to any pop music regardless of quality and to drink far more than what is thought to be humanly possible. There are more people coming in and out of the Labyrinth than Jenna Jameson. I'm constantly waiting, to one day glance out the window of the bar and see a drag queen/witch. It’s San Francisco and here it could happen. Often it seems like more people go through that place than a toilet at a chili cook off.

Besides the drifters, there are the core people who have been here for years. These guys are really what hold the place together. The glue if you will. These people, the Lifers will never call themselves that. They don’t like to admit that many of them have become a part of the bar itself and aren’t the people who just work there anymore. They don’t get to this place intentionally where they are at the bar every waking moment. The Lifer aspect creeps up on them like old age, student loans and those Sarah McLachlan commercial with the sick animals.

The “glue” has their expiration date. We just don’t know when it is until Charlie the owner springs it on us. Like modeling, bartending at this bar means that eventually you will be replaced or phased out by someone who is younger, maybe prettier (but not necessarily) and nicer (less jaded from the bar scene). Basically, one day you’re are in and the next day you are told that you are out. It's like being a 75-year-old's 19-year-old wife, you know that if they don't die on you in 5 years, there will be someone younger and hotter to replace you and make the money you can’t. Often lifers are the ones who help keep this bubble we work/live in intact. This is until they themselves are fired. Almost everyone is fired here. The ones who actually quit on their own volition are few and far between. Bartending here specifically is a good gig. Why leave while the getting is still good? After a bartender or barback is “let go,” they often come crawling back begging for their job. I guess the real world sucks far more than living in this sudo-reality I call the Labyrinth and the Castro bubble.

Besides the lifers, the rest of the staff hasn’t been here long enough for me to remember their names. As a result of this, I just call them lemmings. Like the game or reference to "Never Been Kissed," they just walk around aimlessly, a part of our homogeneous group. It’s been nearly a year that I have been at the Labyrinth and I still don’t know everyone here. If I don’t know a person’s name, I usually call them Michael or Chris because it’s generally a good guess. There is always one of those two in a crowd and it sure beats calling the guys “hey you.” It’s like when you’re taking a multiple choice text and you know if you pick C, you will be less likely to pick the wrong answer. On my SATs I also got bored on the math section and ended up just drawing pictures of Garfield eating pizza on the written Math section. As a result of my artwork, I ended up getting probably the lowest score in my high school. Be jealous!

I am usually lucky enough to get at least a shift a week where I worked with Michael who quickly has become one of my best friends. Michael is an interesting guy to say the least. He isn’t the type that you would expect to be a bartender. I guess the longer that I work here, the more that image in my head of a bartender changes. He isn’t cocky and is definitely not a beefcake jock. He is normal, slender and genuine. He is a video game playing, trekie-loving, introvert that on first glance seems to be best suited for a different line of work. Once he goes behind the bar, it is like another person awakens inside of him. This person is outgoing, loud-mouthed and without any internal censors much like myself. This is what we all love and respected about him besides the being completely devoted to and in love with the man he says he will marry once it’s legal. They are of the few gay male couples I know who are not in “open relationships.” They are absolutely devoted to each other. Mikey, is known for being that person that will talk about others behind their back, but in front of their face. It’s much in the same fashion that old Jewish women talk about each other. At least that’s how they work in my family so that they can eventually gang up on you and make you sure you feel inadequate. They will with make sure that someone is chatting about your problems and keep your insecurities not only alive but you will leave with more insecurities than you came with. It's quite the Jewie phenomenon.

For Michael, if I point out an attractive guy in the room, he shouts out “what? You like whom? Cover his face and you’re good!”
Maybe happy married life with Mike has made monogamy look more like celibacy and he feels the need to live through me? I don’t know.

Mike says things just loud enough so that others can hear. The best part is that he simply doesn’t care about others accepting him. He doesn’t need their validation. He is a Treckie who isn’t ashamed of being vocal about his love for conventions, Vulcan ale and all sorts of nerd crap that I would never admit to liking. He doesn’t give a shit what others think of him. I aspire to get to this point.

While Michael is an example of one of the hardest working individuals at the bar, he also has shown me how to have fun and really make the most out of this place. He often finds a way to be playful with the people we meet while working. He will casually asks hot guys that we meet at work, customers at his station to show off their “goods.”
Mike would then say, “aint nothing come for free in life. Whip it out and I’ll buy you a shot.”
Mike entertains himself on slow nights by trying to get men to show him their dicks for drinks. It’s oddly more entertaining than car accident. Mike gets guys to whip out their dicks and it’s more hilarious than hot. So far we must have seen almost every color, size, width, cut, uncut. Usually this is done strictly for entertainment value alone. We aren’t aloud to drink while working at the bar, so we got to get our shits and giggles somehow. Now, it becomes game of sorts. It’s way more fun than Blackjack and less costly.

This is where we pull the good-cop, bad-cop game.
Mike then goes on to tell these guys something like “sweetheart, nothing is for free, we all got to work to get what we want.”

He then turns to me and says, “Just cause I am married, doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes and a pulse. I can look for Christ’s sakes. It’s like being on a diet, you can still look at food!”
While Mike plays good cop, I take on the persona of the bad cop.

I casually respond to Mike’s comments with a “he is shy” or “he doesn’t have anything to show.”
The fact that it’s so easy to play these men is both funny and really sad. What’s funny about some men when their drunk, the second you make a comment about their dick size being sub-standard, they get so defensive and over-protective. While stupid, the game often will entertain us and our coworkers while these boys step up to the plate for a free drink in the name of honor. It isn’t about the final result of seeing the little or big piece of flesh hidden inside of a man’s trousers, although that alone is worth it. It’s more about getting there.

During fleet week we have a slew of marines come in the bar. Michael is like a kid in a candy store. He always uses single me as bait. After one shot, these boys don’t even need to be challenged. They will do it willingly. It’s like one of those “girl’s gone wild” videos, but with hot and some not so hot men. Well actually, mostly hot men. The less attractive and short the guy/marine is, the more likely they are to step up to the plate. Maybe it’s due to their little man syndrome? They are those guys who probably drive little red sports cars to make up for their lack their of… Be it gay, straight, cut, uncut, black, white, red, blue, anacononda-esk, elephant trunk, noodlesk, wine corkish, and microscopic, we see them all. There is no racial divide here, equal opportunity all the way.

Besides the games, since Michael isn’t single there is that whole element of competition that is taken out of the mix. He is very sure of who he is and isn’t. Unlike many single gay men, he is sure of where he could has love and doesn’t need to go looking for it. This energy from him on that level is very empowering to me.

After finishing work at 3 or 4 in the am we often then head to his house. We get milkshakes or burgers and hang with our friend Mary. She helps us relax. We spend many a night watching TV and talking about everything from politics to bar gossip. Michael has become my backbone in some ways. He is also the first friend I have from this new bar lifestyle where I feel like I could just be myself without putting on a show or entertaining. There is no game face needed with him. I am not worried that he will stab me in the back. For some reason I have a soft spot for him. He is like the perverted big brother I never had.