Several blogs ago, I described parenthetically why I didn’t eat with my bunkie, Earl. It was because he has a chow-mate from before he knew me. His name is Don. And Don didn’t feel comfortable eating with more than one gay man at a time.
I learned this the hard way. Back in August, I naturally fell in one day with Don and Earl in the chow line, and as we bantered back and forth, it seemed an eminently natural progression that I would join them to eat. When we got our trays, Don led the way to the table, and when it was clear I was following them, did a U-turn of sorts to find a table with two seats (two having been removed for wheelchair access). The two of them sat, and I was left out in the cold, like in a game of musical chairs.
I haven’t shared this, because I was afraid my mother might cry reading it. There I was, a perfectly personable 46 year old, playing the outcast third-grader, disallowed entrée into the cool crowd. I was startled more than anything, but recovered enough to find another seat, eating breakfast alone. I half-heartedly accepted Earl’s apology and explanation back at the dorm about Don needing to protect his reputation.
But actually I was a pissed at Earl. If I had a “friend” who pulled a stunt like that, I would have let him have it. But Earl, who was once married and has kids, is relatively recently gay, and seriously lacks a healthy dose of gay pride. I have seen him mocked as “Pearl,” and not in a kind way. He reacts as if it’s all good clean fun, and I am loathe to disabuse him too much of his illusions. In some ways, they serve him better in this place.
An example of this abuse is actually germane to the last part of this story. There is an older guy here, Terry, who is a real creep. He’ll come by your bunk and ask out of the blue, “What are you doing?” in a sniffy, disrespecting manner. For example, two weeks ago, in the library, someone knocked on the back door. Earl, to be funny, leaned forward to the door and quoted a well-known line from a Cheech and Chong movie: “Hey, it's Dave, open up. I got the stuff.” Terry, out of the blue, (he and Earl had never even spoken) said “what do you mean, you don’t have “stuff,” you’ve got HIV and AIDS.” Earl, and two others from the dorm, were aghast. Earl felt a little like I did in the cafeteria, I think, too taken aback to say anything. The others there told Earl later he would have been completely justified in socking Terry across the jaw, but blessedly, Earl is basically non-violent, and smart enough not to risk a “115” for fighting, which could add 3 extra months to his sentence.
So with this background you will be able to visualize the ‘sitcom-live’ scene that occurred last night as I chanced upon Don, Earl and none other but the evil Terry, sitting together at dinner. I did a double-take and thought, “If Terry can sit there, dammed sure I can sit there.” And so I did, with a sprightly “Hello, Don. Hello, Earl.” Don looked up, with the guiltiest “Hi Marc,” imaginable. Earl could barely contain his glee; he had been desperately hoping I’d show up. Abruptly enough, Terry, who I’d pointedly ignored, finished his meal and left. Then the damn broke, so to speak. I said “If Terry can sit here….” Don threw up his hands “All right, all right, you got me!” I could tell that he had probably wanted something like this to happen earlier, because it had become so awkward, me not eating with them, but he couldn’t get himself to acknowledge what an idiot he’d been.
But here’s the punch line. Earl then lit into Don: “Well, why the hell did you talk to Terry in line?” to which Don made a reply that was my dream setup, “I just chatted with him! I couldn’t help if he followed us to the table! What did you want me to do?” There was a pause. Earl and Don looked at me, suddenly realizing what was coming: “Oh, I don’t know Don, maybe find a table with just two seats?”
I truly hope this is not a “You had to be there” moment. If it isn’t, you are laughing, but not possibly as hard as we laughed there at chow. I’d got him. Who says revenge isn’t sweet?
I now no longer have Newsweek as my sole dinner companion. I am “in” with the “in” crowd.
Mommy, I’ll make it through the third grade after all.
MCO 2004
P.S. While I was writing this, gentle Mike from the blog ‘Human Writes’ came up to me with a letter he was working on to his fiancée, which he spelled ‘fiancey.’ I promise I do not share this coming from any place of snide superiority. But I am amazed someone can make it into high school clearly not understanding what contractions are for, what the difference is between plural and possessive, and what synonyms are. I very, very gently pointed out the difference between your and you’re, hear and here, sisters and sister’s, are and our, etc. Also, what paragraphs are for and when to start new ones, the purpose of commas, and the utility of periods.
As for content,l I’m glad to report he did insert my idea of a 12:00 noon virtual “hi” every dat to his sweetheart.
And he spent some time with the dictionary I offered him, taking my suggestion to get lost in it for a while. He thanked me in a heartfelt way that made my day. (Oh, and the poor guy is the evil Terry’s bunkie!)
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