Public Bars

I’m generally not a big fan of ‘straight’ bars. Not only because I worry their clientele will judge me, or worse, punch my nose in, but also because I get hit on by ugly drunk men every time I enter one. I’m really not blowing my own trumpet, I’m not exactly a work of art deserving of adoration at every port, but basically in that setting I don’t want it.

Upon entering a straight bar last night I was assailed by no less than three ugly drunk men (and another one did wink at me). They asked if myself and my straight friend had boyfriends. When we said we did not, they asked if we were lesbians (in jest of course). Ha. Ha.

Having escaped from their greasy clutches and suggestive eyebrow movements (with only half a pint of Tenants spilled on my new trousers), I moved towards acquaintances at another table. I looked around. I like to think I have relatively good gaydar, but it did seem rather like most of http://www.gaydargirls.com/ had come to this quaint pub. And all the ugly drunk men obviously hadn’t realised.

So a number of knowing glances later I sidle over and say I think we’ve met somewhere before. Oh yes… at gay pride/women’s soccer/a gay bar.

Of course, the loud music did mean that all these prospective gays had to stand ever so close to be heard. Convenient. The ugly drunk men have obviously not picked up on this either. Nor had they picked up on the number of rainbow accessories and variations on the mullet present.

The ugly drunk men are the sort that generally dislikes gay people, making crude jokes and references to homosexuality. They also obviously can’t lift their eyes from their pints to notice that their watering hole is like a mini Soho.