Tabatha Deans

Bringing Integrity to the Written Word

I was blessed with a visit from an old friend this week, PTM. Before we ventured out I told him that I lived in one of Denver’s best gayborhoods. He promptly pulled a ball cap out of his backpack with the name “Melissa Etheridge” written on it in sparkly letters.
“What kind of response do you think my hat will get?” he asked.
Well, I’m not sure if it was the hat or the man under the hat, but we did not receive a very warm reception at our first stop, Hamburger Mary’s. The young man behind the bar immediately took a disliking to my friend, which was apparent from his angry stare and curt words as we ordered a beer. He gave me a look that said “who the hell is this guy.” Every attempt by my friend to engage the bartender was met with cold silence, followed by the disappearance of our server.
I tried to intervene. When the barkeep returned I mentioned that my friend was visiting from out of town, and did the young man know of any places of interest I needed to take him to.
“Well, there’s the “Wrangler” right up the street. If that’s your kind of thing,” he replied, glaring directly at my companion. We immediately asked in unison “What kind of thing?”
“You know,” his gaze intensified on PTM. “Bears.”
“Bears? What kind of bears? Live bears?” PTM was excited at this concept, however I knew exactly what the young man was talking about. The barkeep shook his head and walked away.
“What? What’d I say? What kind of bears?” PTM pressed. When I was able to catch my breath again from laughing so hard, I attempted to explain to PTM that there’s a category of gay men who, I believe, are the hairy, biker kind of looking guys, who are commonly referred to as “BEARS.” Apparently they hang out at the Wrangler, and apparently PTM’s facial hair qualified him as a bear. And apparently, bears are not allowed to roam free in my gayborhood. And apparently, Hamburger Mary’s was not the place for us that night.

December 26, 2011 - Posted by | Uncategorized

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