He Look-a Like-a Man
I have issues – retained from my public school days – when talking to hot macho straight guys. Conversation does not flow with ease, I feel extremely self-conscious, and I make short remarks. While, what is internally a battle of nerves, I have been told I end up coming across as snobby and reserved, what my boyfriend dubs my “defense mechanism”.
For the last little while, as I have been moving up the food-chain at work, I have made a concentrated effort to over-come this disorder of mine, and throw myself into situations where I have conversations with these men.
Here’s and example:
I am walking into my workplace, and Papi Chulo is entering the building at the same time.
“Hey, what’s up?” He says, as he gives me a nod.
“Hey, not much, how you doin?” I respond back, with an appropriate nod. He is walking a couple steps ahead of me. I normally would have chosen to keep walking in silence, and made a parting, “later”, as we walked towards our respective seating areas.
“So how did that jam go, that you threw?” I ask instead. Last week he had gone around, handing out flyers to some party he was throwing.
“Ah, real good man, real good. Real nice turn-out.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah, it was real good. You know, good times, good music, chillin’ you know?”
“Seen.”
Were now in a fairly packed elevator. And, I feel that was a sufficient little testing of my boundaries, but to my surprise Papi Chulo continues.
“Yeah, every Friday, were having a night, a chill-vibe, lounge atmosphere, you can come have your drinks, listen to some good tunes.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Were looking to make it a big night, at the end of every month, get a live act in there, some big DJ, live poetry, you know whatever….”
“Sounds cool, where you havin’ it?”
“Butter”
“Where?”
“You know Buh-ta,” he enunciates the word, as if I should know this place. I don’t party hardcore like I used to a few years back, so am currently unfamiliar, with the latest clubs and hotspots. “It’s on College.”
“Ohhh,” I say, event though I still don’t know what the fuck he is talking about.
“I’m only saying, cuz’ I saw you across the street from there one time, with a couple of honeys.” Yes, I remember now, it was one of my fag hags birthday, and she had picked some place on College Street to go out.
“Ohh, okay, cool, I’ll have to check it out some time.”
“Yeah, yeah, man, and bring them honeys with you. We gotta’ have those honeys. You know what I’m sayin’?” Suddenly I don’t like this conversation anymore. This reminds me why I have my defense mechanism in place, when you talk to these type of guys, eventually the conversation comes to this sort of impasse.
I give him a nod, and attempt to speed up my walking, trying to revert to the snobby and reserved me. But, it is to late, Papi Chulo is in full salesman mode, and is continuing to sell his night to me. He pauses for a second to say “hello” to some mulatto girl that passes us, as we turn a corner in the hallway.
“Yo, that chicks sexy!” He says, as his head is turned back gazing at her from behind. I don’t know what to say to this comment. I have always found it hard to fake this part of macho dialogue. Luckily, we are at the doors to out department, and I am getting ready to say my, “later” as we head to our respective seating areas. But my lack of response is apparently not sufficient. Papi Chulo slaps my chest gently with the back of his hand, to get my attention. “Yo, you don’t think she’s sexy?”
In my head, I’m thinking, I’m gay. If you were to ask my professional opinion, she does have a nice rack, but her hair is over bleached to the point of being orange which is not attractive. And, even though today is casual day, the whole black tights with a bomber jacket, is kind of tacky and so mid-90’s.
Instead, I give one glance back at the girl in question, turn around and say, “yeah.” For some reason he find this extremely funny. I finally get to say my, “later”, and go towards my desk. I feel kind of ticked off, having had to enter into bullshit dialogue reminiscent of high-school.
Maybe, there is nothing wrong with being a snob.
For the last little while, as I have been moving up the food-chain at work, I have made a concentrated effort to over-come this disorder of mine, and throw myself into situations where I have conversations with these men.
Here’s and example:
I am walking into my workplace, and Papi Chulo is entering the building at the same time.
“Hey, what’s up?” He says, as he gives me a nod.
“Hey, not much, how you doin?” I respond back, with an appropriate nod. He is walking a couple steps ahead of me. I normally would have chosen to keep walking in silence, and made a parting, “later”, as we walked towards our respective seating areas.
“So how did that jam go, that you threw?” I ask instead. Last week he had gone around, handing out flyers to some party he was throwing.
“Ah, real good man, real good. Real nice turn-out.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah, it was real good. You know, good times, good music, chillin’ you know?”
“Seen.”
Were now in a fairly packed elevator. And, I feel that was a sufficient little testing of my boundaries, but to my surprise Papi Chulo continues.
“Yeah, every Friday, were having a night, a chill-vibe, lounge atmosphere, you can come have your drinks, listen to some good tunes.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Were looking to make it a big night, at the end of every month, get a live act in there, some big DJ, live poetry, you know whatever….”
“Sounds cool, where you havin’ it?”
“Butter”
“Where?”
“You know Buh-ta,” he enunciates the word, as if I should know this place. I don’t party hardcore like I used to a few years back, so am currently unfamiliar, with the latest clubs and hotspots. “It’s on College.”
“Ohhh,” I say, event though I still don’t know what the fuck he is talking about.
“I’m only saying, cuz’ I saw you across the street from there one time, with a couple of honeys.” Yes, I remember now, it was one of my fag hags birthday, and she had picked some place on College Street to go out.
“Ohh, okay, cool, I’ll have to check it out some time.”
“Yeah, yeah, man, and bring them honeys with you. We gotta’ have those honeys. You know what I’m sayin’?” Suddenly I don’t like this conversation anymore. This reminds me why I have my defense mechanism in place, when you talk to these type of guys, eventually the conversation comes to this sort of impasse.
I give him a nod, and attempt to speed up my walking, trying to revert to the snobby and reserved me. But, it is to late, Papi Chulo is in full salesman mode, and is continuing to sell his night to me. He pauses for a second to say “hello” to some mulatto girl that passes us, as we turn a corner in the hallway.
“Yo, that chicks sexy!” He says, as his head is turned back gazing at her from behind. I don’t know what to say to this comment. I have always found it hard to fake this part of macho dialogue. Luckily, we are at the doors to out department, and I am getting ready to say my, “later” as we head to our respective seating areas. But my lack of response is apparently not sufficient. Papi Chulo slaps my chest gently with the back of his hand, to get my attention. “Yo, you don’t think she’s sexy?”
In my head, I’m thinking, I’m gay. If you were to ask my professional opinion, she does have a nice rack, but her hair is over bleached to the point of being orange which is not attractive. And, even though today is casual day, the whole black tights with a bomber jacket, is kind of tacky and so mid-90’s.
Instead, I give one glance back at the girl in question, turn around and say, “yeah.” For some reason he find this extremely funny. I finally get to say my, “later”, and go towards my desk. I feel kind of ticked off, having had to enter into bullshit dialogue reminiscent of high-school.
Maybe, there is nothing wrong with being a snob.
posted by dutty brown boi at
12:36 AM
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