Since I have come to my emotional nadir (that is "lowest point of despair" for the illiterate fags out there), I ended up going to The Boiler Room last night. 'Cause that's not the trashiest bar in Manhattan or anything. Think a plethora of scruffy middle-aged (>35yo) queens doing the Ellen dance around the pool table.
But the drinks are cheap and it's walking distance from my luxurious SoHo loft. So, why not. The thing about The Boiler Room is that it's so unpretentious that people actually approach you. You know, human interaction?
So this guy at the bar asks me: "Do you come here a lot?". Which is code for "I wanna approach you but I have zero creativity so I will just spew the most cliched pick-up line ever".
He has an accent so I ask him where he's from. He says Germany. I guess I'm feeling ballsey, or just protective of my Jewish hag, so I say: "Germany? So, why did you guys have to kill so many Jews?"
He pauses for a minute, completely incredulous that I just asked him that. "Why are you bringing up something that happened three generations ago?", he asks. "Because that's just mean. Killing so many Jews", I say. Pause. Then he says: "That was completely offensive, I cannot believe you said that." I say: "That was supposed to be a joke".
I guess that's all it took for him to forget the whole deal, 'cause he immediately asked if I had "party favors" -- cuz that's not trashy or anything. So I told him: "I think that's completely offensive -- asking me if I have 'party favors'". To which he says: "We're even then".
So I ask him what he does for a living in Germany, and he says that he works in the "travel industry", and went on and on about the details of his job, which totally triggered a few yawns on my part. If you're not in the entertainment industry, or if you are unable to help me advance in my career, don't talk to me about your job at a bar, you know? Unless your intentions are to prove you're a real top, then you can tell me you are in finance -- but that's it, no need for specifics. These out-of-towners come to the NYC expecting us to have the kind of attention span they produce in the Midwest. We don't have time for that which isn't fabulous. We don't have time for that which we gain nothing from.
So I tell him I'm going to Urge, and he comes with, the Jew-hater. If at least he looked Nazi. I mean, if you're gonna be German, at least look menacing, you know. So I can play out all sorts of Stasi officer rape fantasies inside my head as you eat me out for a couple hours. But no, he has dark hair, dark eyes and is 5 foot 7. Unforgivable.
At Urge he says he has to go to the bathroom so he can "powder his nose". So I tell him in New York we don't bother using code words for "I'm gonna snort some coke, want some?" anymore. That's just 90s. We say it like it is. With that in mind I tell him I'm leaving because I don't feel comfortable hanging out with someone whose grandparents probably gassed half of my fag hag's relatives. He looks stunned, as if I had just ruined his entire New York weekend. And I think "good", grab my jacket and walk down 2nd Avenue with the feeling of having added my 2 cents to the road for peace in the Middle East.
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