As a teen I worked in the truck stop of my little shithole town. It was the only restaurant for miles and had a decent reputation, although I never understood why. People would come from all over Ohio just to eat there. In the mornings, truckers and farmers would sit at the bar drinking endless cups of coffee talking shit. On Friday and Saturday nights, the Coach room was open. It had a generous buffet and it also featured seafood, frozen naturally, and freshly carved meat. I worked the buffet nearly every weekend in some capacity. Most of the time I helped prepare food and take it out to the buffet. Sometimes I carved the roasts and Prime Rib. Other times I was a busboy. It depended on what they needed me to do. I basically worked every job in the place except cashier.
Some weekend nights, there would be a kind of static in the air that I never completely understood until recently. Two middle-aged gentlemen would come in to eat. I didn’t think anything of it. They were just customers. I was in the waitress station one Friday when I heard them talking about the table. The waitresses drew straws to see who would have the unfortunate pleasure of waiting on them. I found that very strange as well. They’re just customers like the rest of them. What makes them so special.
I watched how the waitress treated them. She was overly kind to the point that it was grotesque. I still didn’t understand. She even messed up their drink order on purpose (decaf instead of regular). I asked her why and she just said that she couldn’t stand the two of them. None of the waitresses would say anything either as to why the two gentlemen were social pariahs. They even tipped very well, regardless of the service.
A couple of weeks later, they came back for the Prime Rib buffet. Same scenario with the electric attitude that I still didn’t understand. This time, though, no one was drawing straws, nor were they going to their table. I asked the manager what was wrong and what was going on. She simply said:
“Well, you see Michael. That’s Uncle Chuck and Auntie Fran. They’re a little light in the loafers.”
I looked at her and said, “That’s the dumbest fucking thing I think I’ve ever heard.” (A little loudly) Then I went to the waitress station, grabbed a tray and a couple of glasses of water. I approached their table, introduced myself and took their drink orders. Since they wanted the buffet, all they had to do was go get their food. Like with any other customer, I simply made sure they had what they wanted or needed. I also gave them the respect as human beings that they deserved. They were extremely happy with their experience and I was extremely happy with the $50 tip which was fantastic in 1986. The other girls bitched because I didn’t put the money in the pool, but I kept it anyway. I told them that I served the couple because they refused to, so it’s my money. Fuck them!
I looked at my manager and the restaurant owner’s son before closing and asked why they allowed the girls to do something like that. It wasn’t right. They’re two people coming into your restaurant to eat. They’re spending their money to line your pockets.
“It just ain’t right. It’s not natural. They give us the creeps.” They said.
“But you’ll still take their money, won’t you?! You saw two fags sitting at a table that have been here numerous times, despite your best efforts to dissuade them from coming. They always seem to leave full and happy regardless of how the ‘losing’ waitress treats them. They leave a tip for her and they pay you way too much money for an overpriced buffet. I see two people sitting at a table who want to come and enjoy a meal in each other’s company.” I said.
These were the very first gay men I’d ever met. I thought I was the only one until I left that little POS hellhole.
cazandoconejos 