A quick disclaimer: I didn’t go to a gay bar just so I could go “DURR HURR LOOK AT ALL THESE GAYS LOL THEY HAVE A DIFFERENT SEXUAL ORIENTATION ROFLMAO”- that would be fucking stupid. Nor is the recounting of my experience meant to be mocking; it was just a really weird series of events, and I think it’s a worthwhile story.
Here’s what happened.
Last year (I’m not sure when, but during football season at some point), I was watching football at a bar with some friends and a couple of girls who had come with a friend of theirs, a gay man. We’ll call him Christian. Christian was getting kind of bored at the bar and wanted to meet up with some friends at a gay sports bar called The Locker Room. Since it was a relatively boring slate of games and we were all having a good time, my friends and I decided to tag along.
We hopped in a cab and headed for The Locker Room, but upon our arrival, I was displeased with what I saw. Not because it was a gay bar, mind you- the place was fucking packed. Anyone who knows me knows how little I enjoy being in crowded bars, so I wasn’t looking forward to this. At any rate, we’d come this far, so we figured we’d head inside.
After trying to maneuver my way through the throngs of people for about 10 minutes, one of the girls suggested we go downstairs, where it would be quieter. More intimate. (FORESHADOWING!) We headed downstairs, and she was right- the basement was much more laid-back. All the TVs were playing the Packers game (whether or not that was intentional, I’m not sure), and I settled into a chair to watch. After a few minutes, I decided I had to go to the bathroom; luckily, there was one right by the downstairs bar.
I headed for the bathroom and started to push open the door, but before I could get it open, the weight of an entire human (possibly two) slammed against the door, making entry impossible. And even if I had managed to get in, that would have been an awkward piss. “Hey,” I thought to myself, “it happens- people get it on in bars all the time.” Which is absolute insanity. Here I am in a skeevy gay bar called The Locker Room, of all stereotypes, I’ve just come within a pubic hair of walking in on two men having sex in a bar bathroom, and all I can think is “Nope, nothing to see here, just some regular folks doing regular things.” If it had happened in a non-gay-bar setting, I would have informed the bartender, called the local constabulary, and generally made a way bigger deal out of it, but because I was in a gay bar, I didn’t. I think it’s because I was trying to be progressive and liberal and all that shit, but upon further review, fuck that. Not because of who was doing it, but because of the action itself. Who the fuck has sex in a bar bathroom? And why did my reaction to something happening change because of where it occurred, turning me into the most polite, unassuming person who’s ever lived? It’s weird.
Realizing that those two lovebirds were probably gonna be a while (I hope! AMIRITE LADIES/FELLAS?!), I headed for the bathroom upstairs. The first thing I noticed was that the bathroom was unbelievably crowded- people were waiting for urinals 3 or 4 deep in line, like it was a fucking bathroom at Wrigley Field. I got to the front of the line and realized that the urinals (no stalls, natch) were waaaaay too close together. I’m a relatively broad-shouldered (read: fat) guy, so that was a problem. I don’t like bumping into people at regular urinals, but in a packed bathroom at a gay bar? Things could get dicey. So I shifted my weight a little bit to get better balance, and in doing so, I accidentally (ACCIDENTALLY) lightly bumped into the guy next to me.
The guy turned and gave me the creepiest look, and I saw his eyes travel from my face allllll the way down to my penis, which by then had retracted inside of my body out of sheer panic. I haven’t gotten stage fright since middle school, but it returned with a vengeance at that moment. Which was terrible timing, because then all I could think to myself was “He’s gonna think I’m just in here to look at some dicks. OH GOD NOW I HAVE TO BUY HIM A DRINK.”
I stood at the urinal for what seemed like an eternity, finally doing my business and turning to leave. I washed my hands, and look up to see that same guy leering at me; thinking he needs a paper towel to dry his hands or something, I turn around and see no paper towel holder. I turn back around and…yep, he was just leering at me. I put my head down and departed the bathroom, but not before having to shrug that same guy’s hand off my shoulder, since it had slyly made its way to my body. Soon after, we left.
I don’t think I’ll be returning.