Fag Hag Part 2

I pretty much left them alone for most of their meal. I'd already told them most decent things about myself, and figured hanging around them any longer would be harmful to my tip. Old people think it's great that I'm well-traveled and volunteer; they don't think it's great that I punch people in the face and staple my pants together when they rip.

I began hovering around the table when it looked like they were full. While I was assuring the Lady that her broth would not leak from the take-out container I was about to pack her dish into, man #2 said, "that's my wife." I don't know why he told me, and I thought it was a joke." So I made some snorting noise that is basically what I do when I don't understand what a customer is saying or don't get their jokes. I wrapped up the food and began putting the Ladies food with man#1 food and man#1 was like, "wrong bag". Then I started thinking, what the fuck. Is this gay man really married to this old, sick woman? What the fuck is going on? So at this point I just smile and run away from the table and immediately consult my colleagues on the matter. At this point it's a puzzle.

gayMan#2 stands up and walks over to me and whispers right in my face with his little kicky beret on: "You need to go write your name and information down for my friend right now. I want to tell you who he is, but I can't right now. My wife too, she's famous."

At this point I'm like what the fuck and I write my info down very neatly, in all caps. Hand it to the man and give him his mousse parfait. He looks at me and says, "I'll get right on this tomorrow, dear, " I said thank you so much, again and walked away.

A little while later I packaged up the rest of their wine and gayman#2 flapped over to me and leaned in again, "my wife is Manon Cleary. She's a famous artist, google her. My friend is the world's first authority to the Continental Congress, he wants to recommend you for...well I don't want to get your hopes up, but he's kind of a big deal. We thought you were fabulous, and I really hope this all works out." He then hands me the slip where he signed for a rather generous tip. After thanking them 7,000 times I finished my side work and nodded off on the train.

Get This:

Manon Cleary, has been a famous artist since the 1960's. She's most known for her many naked self-portraits done with pencil and charcoal. One of her most prominent themes is men in rubber, often in full body condoms. She often drew her bisexual husband and was constantly explaining how his sexuality played into her artwork. Now she's terminally ill and can barely breath.

I wrapped their oyster shells into a take-out box. Man#2 said they wanted to use them for art projects. To this I snorted again. Now it all makes perfect sense. They're married, he's bisexual, they do kinky shit and made art out of it. Man#1 could be his friend or boyfriend.

Frankly, I couldn't care less if I found them all fucking inside a giant condom and using the O2 tank as a fulcrum point for balance and poise, either way they gave me $60 and the hope that someday I'll be able to throw these fucking pants in the garbage.

http://thenewgay.net/2008/03/artist-profile-manon-cleary.html

Fag Hag

Tonight I was working at my new job, and I've been pretty down in the dumps about the pay cut I've taken since my move. The restaurant, although 10 times nicer than my last one is 10 times slower with a much less generous crowd. After cuts were made I got lucky and three oldish, "upper class" looking, white folks walked in. The woman, who looked old from far away but surprisingly younger up close, was on oxygen and had a little tank with her on the booth. When I walked up to the table I guessed the two men were probably brothers and this was their ailing mother, but when I got to the table the one man looked old enough to be the other man's father and the woman maybe looked younger but could possibly be the sick wife of the older looking man but with naturally colored hair. To be clear, from the very beginning I was super confused about the relationships and ages of the people at the table.

So anyway when I got to the table the younger looking man who I will now call man#2 was flipping out and flapping his loose wrists all over the place, while the man next to him (man#1) grabbed his hands and tried to console him. I didn't speak, just gave them water, and immediately walked away from the table assuming the two men were queer as folk and that was their petulant and sick mother.

Man#3 wanted to hear everything I had to say. Man#3 told me it was his birthday and he wanted a nice dry and sweet wine. When I crumpled my face and told him that was impossible he gave me the wheel. I chose the Conundrum for him and they just couldn't get enough of me.

"Wow you are just amazingly knowledgeable. Did you just see how she wiped the lip of the bottle on the towel that's draped over her arm? I barely saw it, she's so graceful"

"yeah, until I knock your full glass over," I so seriously said.

After more compliments for I still couldn't figure out what, I left them and stuck with the same assumptions. When approaching the table again and alerted of the oxygen lady's multiple allergies (fungus,cheese,living cultures????), man#1 said, "okay now what's your name and what are you doing here?" and then began a rapid fire round of my life/goals/ambitions/experiences. All three of them just loved me and I just wanted to close my eyes and let them throw money at me. Then man#1 said, "Nealey, give me your name and phone number before we leave. I might be able to help you out". I almost puked and instead said, "Wow, absolutely. Thank you." By the time apps hit the table I'd decided that man#1 and Oxygen lady (who will from now on be referred to as Lady) were married and this was their son (gay man#2) who I had also begun referring to my colleagues as "a diva."

to be continued... sorry i'm beat, its late as hell!