I had to run a couple of errands after lunch today, one of which involved a trip to my local hardware store. Faced with the choice between Lowe's and Home Depot, I chose Lowe's. I'm not a fan of big box stores, and the crowd at Home Depot is a little more homemade meth - and although a little pricier, I like Lowe's because the staff is friendly and knowledgeable, and the environment just feels a little nicer (but not by much).I don't live in boystown (WeHo) anymore, so when my gaydar starts tingling these days, it means something. It was just a couple of the register jockeys (in the return department, no less), but we exchanged knowing glances, and went about our separate ways. I've run into queens around town - that cute couple at Target, that tragic, flaming queen with the horrible dye-job in customer service (also at Target), and tons of lesbians. In fact, every time I see a gay pride, or Human Rights sticker on a car around town, I don't get excited anymore, mostly cause it always turns out to be a lesbian.
But today, when I left Lowe's, turning on to the main drag outside the mall, I heard a familiar thumpa-thumpa from the car next to me. No, not just the car next to me: the black, convertible roadster next to me. The driver, although cute, was right out of an old, gay movie stereotype: bleach blond hair, polo shirt (collar up) and white-rimmed sunglasses. No, I'm not making this up. I laughed, drove on, and felt just a little bit more at home, in my home town.
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