All in all, I had a wonderful weekend. Were it not for one particular incident {which didn't even happen to me}, however, my weekend could've been SPECTACULAR! But, NO. There was an asshole who felt a need to be his entire supremely assholey self toward a good friend of mine, and thus became a festering asshole to my friend's boyfriend as well. I was looking forward to spending time with these friends, and my friends were looking forward to getting to see us and some of the rest of their friends, have some fun, and hang out. That my friends were denied this was more than enough to piss me off; that I was denied the chance to see them as planned, pissed me off even more.
On Friday evening, I went to the airport to pick up my friend's Scott & Lauri, who were returning from a very much needed, last-minute surprise vacation. I gave them a ride to our friend Tony's condo, where they are currently living, and I spent a bit of time hanging out with the three of them, catching up, talking, and playing games. The plan for the rest of the weekend {as Saturday night was Bear Night @ CC's} was that they would stop in for a bit to see us and some other friends, and just, in general, hang out for a bit while we all celebrated Bear Night in our usual revelry.
We arrived at the bar somewhere between 7 and 7:30, and began our general hanging out. This included a drink or two, natch. An hour or so-ish later, as we stood out on the patio, I'm informed by Anthony that Lauri had been told he couldn't enter the bar because of his Estonian ID. I'd not yet checked my own mobile to see the message that Scott had left me, telling me what he'd told Anthony. I replied something about that being some bullshit, and, in that particular moment, didn't think anything else about it. UNTIL, the next message from Scott saying that they were leaving because the doorman was being a dick about Lauri's ID. I was caught up in the mystery of the Malibu&Cranberry concoctions on which I'd been sippin', and even mo' caught up with the freshness of the fine, furry fellas all up 'n thru the bar, so I wasn't in the proper frame of mind to think the situation out. Therefore, I stayed where I was, assuming that the doorman could clearly see that Lauri was over the age of 21 and therefore his entering the bar shouldn't have been an issue; by the time I realized that Scott & Lauri had already, in fact, turned away, righteously pissed off, and headed home, it was a bit late to even consider intervening. So, I admit, I continued on with what (and whom) I'd been carrying on...
Here's what transpired:
Scott & Lauri walked thru the door and were asked for ID from the doorman; I'm assuming that CC's, for the most part, was doing its part in making sure that patrons of the bar had proper ID on them while in the bar, as CLEARLY 98% of the clientele looked obviously over the age of 21, w/ more than half of those being well above the age of 33. [For the record, I commend CC's for making sure folks had ID on them, regardless of being 'obviously' old enough to drink.] BUT, this particular doorman apparently had some issues with the world outside of North America, and took it upon himself to allow his personal ignorance control a situation that should've been handled with training, no-how, and tact, all of which he seems to lack. When Lauri presented his ID to him he said {according to Scott} "You're lucky I'm going to let you in here with that." -- as if Lauri's official, Estonia-issued ID was some kind of attempt at fraud. Lauri, quite rightly, was offended by this, and asked ""I can go?" to which the doorman replied "Yeah, you can." as he handed Lauri back his license and pointed to the door, effectively telling him to leave. Well, Scott certainly wasn't going to remain inside while his boyfriend was just told to leave and made to feel like shit; he left as well, and as they walked back to their car, Scott tried to pump up his now-deflated BF, telling him "That guy is an ignorant dickhead," but it did absolutely nothing to lift Lauri's spirits ~ he became more and more pissed as they walked away. As well he should have been...
Once I found this out, I wish that I had had the presence of mind to step up when the chance was there, not necessarily to cause a scene, or to pull any strings {'cause I've no strings to pull}, but to at least vouch for them. But it would have been futile, I'm sure, because a moron in 'power' is hard to sway...
See, I've worked in retail and/or grocery customer service for most of my life: over 22 of my 38 years have been spent working and dealing with the public. And even in my bitchiest, ballsiest, most "back tha fuck up off me!" moments, I always knew how to effectively do my job and give people a good experience that would make them want to return. Having spent a majority of those years as a cashier, I've had extensive training on how to handle a person's ID; growing up in the South, there wasn't a lot of need for training on handling International IDs, but I got that training when I moved to Seattle 3 years ago. It's really not that hard, regardless where the ID is from, as all you need to do is verify that the photo 'looks like' the person who handed you the ID, and check the date-of-birth to make sure they're of age to do/purchase what it is they wish to do/purchase. Plain and freakin' simple, right? A few places I've worked even recommend making small talk with the patron while you're perusing their ID card, which is good when faced with an ID from a state or country you've never seen before, as you try to locate the DOB which is often not in the same spot on cards from state to state/country to country. Hell, if need be, you can even ask them to point it out! That's all it takes: make sure the person IS who their card says s/he is, and that they're old enough to do what they're tryin' to do.
Clearly, Saturday evening's CC's doorman wasn't too keen on his International Studies and hasn't heard of the country of Estonia. [No fault there, as I'd heard very little, if anything, about it until I met Lauri, who hails from there.] But, instead of making Lauri feel welcome and doing his job {greeting him properly}, he felt a need to cover his ignorance and say something insulting and demeaning when it was totally uncalled for.
With the number of Canadians that were in the bar that night, it was obvious that you don't have to have a US-issued ID, so that couldn't have been the problem...
Lauri is a grown-ass man and would most likely not be mistaken by anyone for being a minor, so THAT couldn't have been the problem.
But, even aside from all that, during the moments when I was back by the entrance, SEVERAL people slid right in without being asked for ID: sure they stopped and got ready to present theirs, but as the doorman was looking at the ID of the guy at the front of the line, some would either go ahead and walk on into the bar proper, where they had friends waiting for embraces, or they simply walk on in to the damn bar and do what they came to do as they slid their unchecked IDs back into their wallets/pockets.
And that's not even mentioning the fact that before 7 or whatever time the doorman starts working, all you gotta do is walk in ~ BECAUSE THERE AIN'T NOBODY CHECKING JACK SHIT AT THE DOOR UNTIL HE GETS THERE!!! So, truly it's not that deep...
So, as it's looking to ME, door-dude is a dumb-assed, dick-headed douche-bag who felt a need to be rude to a customer, impugn his veracity and personage, and make him never want to even think about going into that particular bar again.
I don't know if Lauri will ever go back to CC's. I think he should and that, at the very least, CC's owes him a drink AND an apology. But as it stands right now, he's not feeling any good things toward making those steps to come in. He's pissed and very rightly so.
May seem a small thing to some, but it's about as real as it gets; he's not new to the country, as he comes and lives with Scott for 6 months at a time. If we homosexuals could get married, he'd be able to stay here and be with the man he loves and who loves him. But, no, 'we' don't wanna allow that. He's reduced to being made to feel like a third rate 2nd class citizen.
Then, on top of all that, he's told he can't even step into a bar for a drink and to hang with friends? THAT is some serious bullshittery.
Monday, December 7, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Spectacular, Beautiful, Bizarre, & Frightening: The Dream That Shook Me Outta Bed
This morning I was jolted awake from a dream. It was quite surreal: spectacular, beautiful, and bizarre ~ and by the time I woke myself up to get out of it, it had become quite frightening.
It began as a random little festival-type affair in the backyard of the house I grew up in, back in Tennessee. There were small African artifacts, knick-knacks, and tchotchkes on display everywhere and little coin-operated rides shaped like lions, giraffes, tigers, and antelopes, with kids I'd never seen before riding on them. As strange as all of that was, considering the house I grew up in had no indoor plumbing and no bathroom, it got even more strange when I turned from watching a kid riding on a mechanical elephant to watching another kid playing with an actual koala ~ which suddenly made me realize that I was not in my old backyard at a Africanesque mini-festival, but somewhere in/near Australia.
As I turned back around to re-survey the scene, I saw that it had changed, and that I was now at a full-out carnival: there were Ferris Wheels, Tilt-A-Whirls and other similar carnival-type rides strewn all across the vast expanses of land that had grown from nowhere and where there were woods and forests before. I started walking and taking in all the sites, still trying to figure out exactly where I was, and wondering if by chance I needed to figure out WHO I was: none of this was making any sense, but now and then, something familiar would catch my eye. I just didn't know exactly 'why' they seemed familiar.
There were authentic-looking structures everywhere, and things began taking on a decidedly more African look again; I went strolling thru fields and scenes of African-style buildings and crafts where the rides and concession stands were mere seconds prior to my last blink. I walked and walked thru these scenes, surrounded by people in what would be considered traditional African garb, doing traditional-looking African dances and chanting African hymns and songs. I felt a strange comfort as I walked thru these scenes, oddly knowing and feeling that that was all that they really were: scenes, and not reality. I felt, as I wandered in and out of fields filled with people and animals, that "the bright sun was shining down on me, baking me, darkening my already chocolate skin to an even more African hue, centering me and making me more whole, leading me closer to be one with the Motherland." As I walked and thought these thoughts, I suddenly began to feel less calm, and I realized that I has stumbled into what could only be considered a cemetery. It was remarkably elabourate and detailed; words I somehow understood but had never seen were etched and printed into and on stone, shadows began shifting into something seemingly other than shadows, as the sun was quickly settling beyond its halfway post in the sky. Figures began to rise from behind what I finally realized were tombstones, and I began to feel a strong sense of unease and to fear for my safety if I remained there much longer ~ but the only way to get out of there was to jump off/over/down a wall that had to be at least 50 feet high, with water flowing down it from the cracks and crevasses that lined it. As the animal howls and shouts began to sound more sinister than sweet, I decided to jump for it...
Once I fell from the graveyard to the much lower level, it took me a minute to assess where I was at this point: I was simply back at the beginning of when I thought I was at a carnival, only the carnival had left and all that remained were the people who'd been there celebrating before. Plus a couple thousand of their deranged and psychotic friends and acquaintances.
I walked around for a bit and eventually came across what appeared to be my childhood home. I knew that it couldn't be, seeing as though nothing else seemed to fit that scope, and I hoped that it wasn't because I had to use the bathroom! I opened the door, peered in, and finally went inside and found the bathroom. After I'd flushed and washed my hand, I looked in the mirror and saw that my dreads (!) needed some tending to, or at least to be tied back and/or covered. So, I walked back out to the front room -- and HERE is where it really got bizarre!
In the front room, on the telephone, was my friend Kim Fields, and along the far wall were most of the wigs she'd worn when she was on "Living Single", along with several scarves and hats. After getting her attention and asking if I could borrow some scarves, I grabbed a few, tied up my locs, and went back outside. Where it would seem a war had just been fought. And lost. It was essentially an African wilderness in the parking lots of several abandoned warehouses, and it had been ravaged, severely...
People were running around looking at the damage that had been caused, while other people were standing over bodies that had been ripped and torn asunder, and as I stood seemingly still, taking it all in, it seemed that it was all getting closer and closer to where I stood. So, I took off walking, not having any idea where I was or where I was going. The unfamiliar-yet-familiar house that I'd just left was gone, and there was no trace of anything that seemed even the remotest bit like "I know what that is". I sped up my pace, reaching for my phone to text or call somebody to help me figure out what the fuck was going on and tell whoever to come and fucking get me -- I was beginning to be more than a bit scared. As I was texting someone {I don't have a clue who!}, a small, bloody hand reached out to grab my phone, and I spun around to see who it was. There were several young African boys standing there looking at me, looking at my phone, and the looks in their eyes told me to BE UP & OUT, so I started walking backward as they began speaking, yelling at me in their native language, causing my slight fear to turn into pure terror. I turned and took off running, trying to finish and send my text all the while; for whatever reason, I looked back over my shoulder to see how far back the boys were, but oddly they'd not even begun to chase me. So, of course, I fell, and THAT'S when they gave chase! So, I'm up again, running for my life, screaming, text be damned, just running and running, I dropped my phone but kept on running...
...and that's when I woke up: standing just in front of our bedroom door, my mobile phone laying on the floor where it had fallen when it disconnected from its charger, both of which had been on my nightstand, both of which were now on the floor. I felt scared (though the fear was fading), tired, relieved, and quite damn silly, as it was becoming more and more clear that I'd ran myself outta the bed from a damn dream. But I was still a bit shook up. AND, I had to pee!
I went back to bed afterward, but I turned on the TV. It was about 8:30am, and I wanted to go back to sleep, but since I was now wide awake I figured I'd watch some telly. Besides, I wanted to allow that dream to move the hell on before I attempted to sleep again! ~LMQAO~
It began as a random little festival-type affair in the backyard of the house I grew up in, back in Tennessee. There were small African artifacts, knick-knacks, and tchotchkes on display everywhere and little coin-operated rides shaped like lions, giraffes, tigers, and antelopes, with kids I'd never seen before riding on them. As strange as all of that was, considering the house I grew up in had no indoor plumbing and no bathroom, it got even more strange when I turned from watching a kid riding on a mechanical elephant to watching another kid playing with an actual koala ~ which suddenly made me realize that I was not in my old backyard at a Africanesque mini-festival, but somewhere in/near Australia.
As I turned back around to re-survey the scene, I saw that it had changed, and that I was now at a full-out carnival: there were Ferris Wheels, Tilt-A-Whirls and other similar carnival-type rides strewn all across the vast expanses of land that had grown from nowhere and where there were woods and forests before. I started walking and taking in all the sites, still trying to figure out exactly where I was, and wondering if by chance I needed to figure out WHO I was: none of this was making any sense, but now and then, something familiar would catch my eye. I just didn't know exactly 'why' they seemed familiar.
There were authentic-looking structures everywhere, and things began taking on a decidedly more African look again; I went strolling thru fields and scenes of African-style buildings and crafts where the rides and concession stands were mere seconds prior to my last blink. I walked and walked thru these scenes, surrounded by people in what would be considered traditional African garb, doing traditional-looking African dances and chanting African hymns and songs. I felt a strange comfort as I walked thru these scenes, oddly knowing and feeling that that was all that they really were: scenes, and not reality. I felt, as I wandered in and out of fields filled with people and animals, that "the bright sun was shining down on me, baking me, darkening my already chocolate skin to an even more African hue, centering me and making me more whole, leading me closer to be one with the Motherland." As I walked and thought these thoughts, I suddenly began to feel less calm, and I realized that I has stumbled into what could only be considered a cemetery. It was remarkably elabourate and detailed; words I somehow understood but had never seen were etched and printed into and on stone, shadows began shifting into something seemingly other than shadows, as the sun was quickly settling beyond its halfway post in the sky. Figures began to rise from behind what I finally realized were tombstones, and I began to feel a strong sense of unease and to fear for my safety if I remained there much longer ~ but the only way to get out of there was to jump off/over/down a wall that had to be at least 50 feet high, with water flowing down it from the cracks and crevasses that lined it. As the animal howls and shouts began to sound more sinister than sweet, I decided to jump for it...
Once I fell from the graveyard to the much lower level, it took me a minute to assess where I was at this point: I was simply back at the beginning of when I thought I was at a carnival, only the carnival had left and all that remained were the people who'd been there celebrating before. Plus a couple thousand of their deranged and psychotic friends and acquaintances.
I walked around for a bit and eventually came across what appeared to be my childhood home. I knew that it couldn't be, seeing as though nothing else seemed to fit that scope, and I hoped that it wasn't because I had to use the bathroom! I opened the door, peered in, and finally went inside and found the bathroom. After I'd flushed and washed my hand, I looked in the mirror and saw that my dreads (!) needed some tending to, or at least to be tied back and/or covered. So, I walked back out to the front room -- and HERE is where it really got bizarre!
In the front room, on the telephone, was my friend Kim Fields, and along the far wall were most of the wigs she'd worn when she was on "Living Single", along with several scarves and hats. After getting her attention and asking if I could borrow some scarves, I grabbed a few, tied up my locs, and went back outside. Where it would seem a war had just been fought. And lost. It was essentially an African wilderness in the parking lots of several abandoned warehouses, and it had been ravaged, severely...
People were running around looking at the damage that had been caused, while other people were standing over bodies that had been ripped and torn asunder, and as I stood seemingly still, taking it all in, it seemed that it was all getting closer and closer to where I stood. So, I took off walking, not having any idea where I was or where I was going. The unfamiliar-yet-familiar house that I'd just left was gone, and there was no trace of anything that seemed even the remotest bit like "I know what that is". I sped up my pace, reaching for my phone to text or call somebody to help me figure out what the fuck was going on and tell whoever to come and fucking get me -- I was beginning to be more than a bit scared. As I was texting someone {I don't have a clue who!}, a small, bloody hand reached out to grab my phone, and I spun around to see who it was. There were several young African boys standing there looking at me, looking at my phone, and the looks in their eyes told me to BE UP & OUT, so I started walking backward as they began speaking, yelling at me in their native language, causing my slight fear to turn into pure terror. I turned and took off running, trying to finish and send my text all the while; for whatever reason, I looked back over my shoulder to see how far back the boys were, but oddly they'd not even begun to chase me. So, of course, I fell, and THAT'S when they gave chase! So, I'm up again, running for my life, screaming, text be damned, just running and running, I dropped my phone but kept on running...
...and that's when I woke up: standing just in front of our bedroom door, my mobile phone laying on the floor where it had fallen when it disconnected from its charger, both of which had been on my nightstand, both of which were now on the floor. I felt scared (though the fear was fading), tired, relieved, and quite damn silly, as it was becoming more and more clear that I'd ran myself outta the bed from a damn dream. But I was still a bit shook up. AND, I had to pee!
I went back to bed afterward, but I turned on the TV. It was about 8:30am, and I wanted to go back to sleep, but since I was now wide awake I figured I'd watch some telly. Besides, I wanted to allow that dream to move the hell on before I attempted to sleep again! ~LMQAO~
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