Coming Out Again
I came out today!
Huh? I thought you were already out. Well, not to my coworkers. Until today.
In the month that I’ve been at my new job, I’ve bonded with some other new people. There are several of us who have just started working there, all in our 20s. Six of us eat lunch together every day — four women, two guys. Today at lunch we wound up in this really animated conversation about relationships and the women started bitching about how it’s so hard to find a guy. I sat there, nodding, laughing, contributing to the conversation, but not in a first-person way.
Finally, one of them asked, “What about the guys? Do you guys mind being asked out, or do you like to do the asking?”
I didn’t say anything. Instead I let the other guy go on about what he likes in women. He was humorous. Everyone laughed. Okay, maybe they’ll forget about me, I thought.
“What about you, Jeff?”
“Yeah, you haven’t answered.”
Oh, what the hell, I said to myself.
“Well actually, I’m usually looking for guys,” I began.
I’m not sure how the “usually” got in there. I think I threw it in as a buffer.
Anyway, they just nodded, smiled, took it as no big deal, like, “Hey, cool.” It was much easier than I’d expected. And I’m proud of myself for just tossing it out there like that — not making a big deal out of it, not being proud of it or apologetic. Just another fact about myself. I like Frosted Mini-Wheats. “The West Wing” is a great show. Well actually, I’m usually looking for guys.
A few minutes later, one of the women looked at me with a smile on her face, nodded at me knowingly, and said, “I know plenty of people I can introduce you to.”
That’s kinda cool…
In the meantime, I’m still waiting for the Piano Man to get back from his two-week vacation. I don’t really know what to call him, but I think Brendan suggested The Piano Man because he has a piano in his apartment. I’d call him Barrage Boy, but he’s not a boy, and anyway that sounds too generic. I’ll think of a name for him eventually.
Whatever his nickname is, I’m looking forward to seeing him when he gets back. We hung out three times over the course of a week, and then he went away for two weeks. He’ll finally be back on Monday, but next week I’ll be busy moving, so I might not see him until next weekend. I can’t wait to see him again. He’s such a sweet, intelligent, slightly neurotic, Jewish, theater-and-movie-loving, piano-playing, UVa-graduated cute guy.
After work, our little work gang went out to a bar for Happy Hour. It was a straight bar. I reminded myself not to cruise anyone.
I had one beer, just one beer, and even some chicken fingers, and my head’s still swimming a little. That’s what you get when you weigh just 125 pounds.
So hey, I had a good day with my coworkers, and, uh, I’m out of the closet! Again! Who knew?
Any guy that my friends or I date get nicknames. We rarely use their real names. And normally it is what ever nickname comes to us first we use. So I say call him The Piano Man.
I never (never) offer anything about my sexuality at work, unless directly questioned — like u were. In retrospect, i suspect the reasons for this are 1) i don’t exactly get into raising a gay flag (or any flag) over my desk, house, car, etc. It just seems an inappropriate way to express something innately indepthly personal. 2) I like to hear people’s view on sexuality, without knowledge of my sexuality somehow filtering their views (you hear the craziest shit sometimes if u just sit back and listen).
I’ve always worked with a small cell of people, never more than 12. So, matters like sexuality can really change the dynamic quickly. In one instance, a str8 fratboy type (the kind that secretly mastrubate to WWF on saturday mornings) i worked with found out, and you could almost see his world’s foundations shake. (“You mean i fell asleep drunk on a gay man’s shoulder?” Uh-huh…)
I liked how you handled it. (we’ll ignore the freudian “usuaully” ;-)
On the small pox front…
(G-d forbid there is ever such a front):
Untill the human exhibits a torso/limb rash (which is always accompanied by a very high grade fever and, frequently, incapacitates the poor soul), they are not contagious.
So, Victim-X might have small pox in his system for up to 12 days, and is incapable of spreading it at all. Only till he becomes deathly (deathly) ill will he become a typhoid mary.
Trust me, you wouldn’t help but notice such a person on a subway carriage, never mind they’d be physically incapable of even walking into the station.
For this very reason, secondary small pox cases are usually confinde to home or hospital. This is one of the reasons why they’re using anthrax, because it “carries well” beyond the original delivery system, like a letter, or (worse) a cart of apples in supermarket (as the apples are distributed throughout homes, clothing, lunch bags, etc.)
.rob
Very recognisable story! I’m a consultant by profession, so I get around to a lot of new work places all of the time.
Working with people means getting asked questions about what you do, who you are and relationships and stuff. I always feared that moment a bit; it is like having your coming out over and over again.
Like you said, when you slip it in casually like it is no big deal, most people react accordingly to it: no big deal indeed.
Sometimes I ask myself if I’m not the one having an attitude problem towards being gay instead of ‘those straight coworkers’.
Yay! for you. I, for one, am proud of our Tin Man.
Just goes to show…we never simply are “out”; rather, coming out is something we do repeatedly, thoughout our lives. And being out is simply a promise to keep coming out again and again.