the book of glamnesia, 3:16

Once upon a time, there was a little gay waiter, whom, in his tiny place of employment, discovered to his horror that there is, in fact, extra-terrestrial life walking among us. He had just finished serving a meal to two seemingly normal elderly folk, and after they had departed and Little Gay Riding Hood was clearing their table, what should he find in place of the gratuity treasure he sought? A small, mustard-coloured bible – right next to the real mustard.

Yes folks, the Gideons have arrived in our fair city for their annual evangelical conference. You may know them as those people who stalk you from hotel room to hotel room, leaving the word of God in your dresser drawer for a little recreational reading. I have come to know them as the latest addition to my list of people to avoid.

I have no real issue with religion (aside from the fact that’s responsible for about 90% of the world’s problems), and I have a high tolerance for religious people, as I believe that it is your choice to lead your life whichever way you like. I do, however, take exception to those who feel it their duty to shove their opinions and views down the throats of those around them – which is, essentially, the exact mandate of the Gideons. They feel that it is their responsibility to distribute as many heavenly books to as many of us lost heathens as they possibly can.

At first, I studied the cover of their gift to me. On it was a collage of photos of a variety of people – one of each ethnicity, a fireman, a teacher, a farmer – and they were all so incredibly happy! Overly happy, with big beaming smiles that were about to fly off the page like birds that would then proceed to peck my eyes out. These people were dripping with glee concentrate, and they were desperate to inject me with the drug of Jesus. They had found the secret to a wonderful life, without Oprah’s help, and without me – and now it was my turn to join the club.

However, based on their conduct in the restaurant, sadly I’ve lost my will to be that kind of happy. It became incredibly busy all at once, and I accidentally missed an order from one lady at a table of five. When I explained the situation to her, she looked at me almost with disgust, and said (directly to me face):

“Well…I guess I should have known better than to expect a stupid queer to get it right.”

I was dumbfounded. Here I was, standing in the middle of the dining room, and she might as well have pulled out a gun and shot me in the chest. My hands were tied – not only was I working, and my conduct would be reflective of the establishment, but furthermore, I was severely outnumbered. All around me sat people, from the same group, with obviously the same mindsets, and the atmosphere abruptly shifted from bustling café to den of hatred. Even though she was the only one to verbally say anything, I could tell that every single one of them was mentally agreeing, as though their thoughts were on a frequency that only I could hear. Everything around me buzzed like invisible bees and I desperately needed to just get out of the situation.

I was caught off-guard, because in any other situation in my life where I’ve had something like that said to me, I’ve always been free to respond in whatever way I would like – which, typically, would be an all-out counter-attack. But this was a whole other ballgame and I was a foul, foul ball. The uncomfort of the mood drove me into hiding in the kitchen, where I took a stifled, hot-air breather and tried to compose myself to rise above.

The best part, is that I informed the restaurant owner (who works in the kitchen during frantic spurts), and her response was for me to ‘just get over it’. In other words, she didn’t care that who I am as an individual was being assailed ten feet away – there was a dollar to be made for her. I took it a step further and attempted to put into relatable terms exactly what it felt like, but she still failed to understand. I just had to suck it up, and deal with it.

In the end, I served a restaurant full of these people, knowing that my every move was being watched – the people who wanted to intravenously enlighten me were carefully ensuring that I wasn’t the one injecting them with something much worse – the gay – and all viewing me as the scum of the earth. I watched as no tips came in from the tables I served, questions asked went ignored, and and anything above the bare minimum of waiter-customer interaction was strictly prohibited.

Somewhere along the way, it occurred to me that I was, in fact, the bigger person in the scenario. That I don’t need a thousand year-old book telling me how to live my life, and that I didn’t need to waste my youth away searching for the secret to happiness, when I already know what it is. I pass each day unafraid of being myself, or of being an individual – that my opinions and my core beliefs are unshakable to outside forces, and I accept individuals around me who try and do the same.

In the end, I actually felt bad for the poor Gideons. They’ve come to our city to meet and discuss what may, possibly, be the way to live their lives – and they’re all old. Every single one of them is at least fifty and very bitter and afraid. Their end is approaching faster than they would like, and they still are unsure of how they should be living.

If I had my time back, I would tell that woman that I may have taken her order wrong, but that this stupid queer definitely has everything that matters, right.

And also, that I wouldn’t be accepting a mustard-coloured bible as a tip.

~ by glamnesia on July 10, 2008.