Saturday, June 2, 2007

A Day at the Eagle

It's a sunny, Sunday afternoon. I go to the L.A. Eagle basically so I can play with other gay kids my age.

At the side door, there is a pierced, tattooed, gentleman with facial hair checking IDs. At my age there is something flattering about that although I know it's not about me being underaged.

The small courtyard at the side is filled with men. Most of them are around my age, some in great shape, some in all their bearish glory, a good number of men older than I am, and a few who are just young. Generally, this is a gay leather bar, but there are only a couple of harnesses and a pair of chaps. There is a barbeque heated up and cooking hot dogs and sausages, I'm sure in an lame attempt to elicit a few weenie jokes.

Inside there are lines at the bar. It is Sunday afternoon after all. I am behind four guys, even after 10 minutes. A younger guy (late 20's early 30's) in sunglasses sits at the bar next to the line. His sunglasses are clearly for effect because the bar is dark. He's with a friend who looks uncomfortable and seems put upon just being there. He is served next. Moral dilemma. Should I complain or say something? No, it's too nice of day and all I want is a gin and tonic and to kick back...maybe find someone to talk to.

Finally, with drink in hand, I make my way over to the barbeque and order a sausage. They just take my $3.00 for the Satyrs Motorcyle weenie jokes. I'm almost disappointed. I dress my sausage with mustard, slap some macaroni salad and potato salad on the side and find a seat inside by the pool tables. Eating, watching a pool game, checking out the gay porn (when did they put porn in bars in L.A.? I know they have had it in N.Y.C. bars for years.), I check out the room.

By a video game, the young, still shaded, line-cutter is playing air guitar and doing rock star poses to the loud music. His friend looks even more uncomfortable now.

I keep having to keep moving to not interfere with the pool table. They are always placed at the most narrow places in a bar. Is that on purpose?

A guy sitting next to me seems to have already enjoyed too much drink at only 5:00 pm in the afternoon. He is bobbing between half asleep and vigilantly watching the pool table. He smiles at me, but I suspect the conversation would be awkward, so I just smile back.

There is a raffle going on. Ticket numbers are being read every half-hour or so. Excited winners run to the DJ booth to collect their t-shirts and x-rated gay dvds.

Finally, I down the g & t and nearly empty the paper plate. It's time for another drink. It is Sunday and I have nothing that has to be done, so I hit the line for another cocktail.

The line hasn't gotten any shorter. When I get there, there are six guys in front of me.

I notice beside me an gentleman who could be anywhere between his mid-fifties and his mid-sixties. A little older but seems to have a great attitude. He is standing right next to me. Was he here when I arrived?

"I'm sorry. Were you in front of me?" I ask.

"Doesn't matter. You go ahead. I'm not going to fight about a place in line." And makes some kind of suggestive comment about not minding to take up my rear.

And I remember why I like playing with guys my own age.

1 comment:

Mo Rage said...

again, good writing, good story. Nice descriptions and ending. Fun. Easy. Funny. Pithy, really.

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