From Pathetic Life #11
Thursday, April 6, 1995
Here’s something unexpected. Somebody named Bill called my message line yesterday, and I called him back this morning. He runs a book store, and wants to meet me tomorrow morning, to talk about some possible work. Nothing unusual so far; I get calls like that all the time, because of my signs posted all around town — “I’ll do anything legal for $5 an hour.”
Except he called back a little later, and said to my voice mail, “By the way, bring a copy of your zine. That seems like the best way to get to know the guy we might be hiring.”
He knows what a zine is? And he knows that I’m a zine guy? That’s peculiar, because I keep those worlds separate. The flyers don’t say that I write and publish a zine, and I certainly hadn’t mentioned it to any of my clients. They’d be lots less likely to hire me, if they knew I’d be writing about them. Not sure I want to work for someone who’s read the zine, and thus knows exactly how often I change my underwear (not very) or get laid (not ever), and so forth.
♦ ♦ ♦
The green cape is an attention-getter, and I enjoy the attention, so I’ve danced with several men on the sidewalk, and some women too (though I’m a terrible dancer). There are plenty of characters in the Castro. I’ve even been kissed on the job, and didn’t file a complaint!
As jobs go, it’s sorta fun being flyer-boy in a wild neighborhood. To counterbalance that, though, this afternoon I was sorta molested.
I’ve seen the perp before — a short, skinny black man in a purple jacket, who does little karate kicks into the air for no particular reason. Maybe the high-kicking should’ve warned me, but I twirl around in an insect’s head, so who am I to judge?
He started by admiring my cape, and we exchanged some pleasantries, and then he reached out and put his arms around me. Nothing unusual so far; people get touchy all the time. It seems to come with the cape.
Then he hugged me tighter, and I felt his erection pumping through his pants, between my thighs. Ever been dry-humped by a dog? It was like that.
When a dog does it it’s a laugh. When a man does it — I pushed him away and told him to go fuck himself.
My revulsion might be, to a microscopic degree, something akin to what a woman feels when a man gropes her without an invitation. Touching can be nice, but being humped on the sidewalk without permission felt like I’m hors d’oeuvres on a platter. I am not a help yourself kind of guy.
At the moment it just freaked me out, but afterwards it started pissing me off, and I regret letting him walk away laughing. He would’ve beaten me up, sure, but I should’ve slugged him.
This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.
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