Here's to you Mrs. Homophobic Chicken Eater

So today I was standing in line at Chick-fil-a – I’m going to be honest here, I LOVE Chick-fil-a. My boss always gives me a hard time, because, as a gay woman, he feels that I should despise the establishment and everything it stands for, but their chicken is just SO GOOD! Plus, if I based everything I bought or everywhere I went on the management’s views, I’d most likely be a recluse. – So I was standing in line and the lady if front of me is on some sort of rant about gay marriage. She goes on and on while we stand waiting to order our delicious chicken-y goodness, and I only catch bits and pieces because she’s mumbling so much as if she’s really ashamed of what she’s saying, OR she thinks that there’s a gay person around who’s going to breathe on her out of spite and infect her with the gay disease.

Finally, after a couple of minutes, her daughter looks back and spots me, then very covertly nudges her mother with an elbow. The woman looks back at me, and I very calmly raise an eyebrow and smirk with the intention of carrying on with my life (it’s what I does). She turns bright red – I’m talking flaming here – and quickly diverts her eyes. After she orders, the girl at the counter looks at me and smiles brightly (as usual) and asks me if I want my regular. Feeling even more chastised apparently, because the employees at this “gay-hating” establishment treat me with kindness and even with a sense of camaraderie, the lady turns to me and very awkwardly mumbles out an apology, to which I smile at, and respond “everyone is entitled to their own opinion.” As she walks off I hear her “whisper” to her daughter. “I can’t believe you made me apologize to that fag.”

And it’s true. Everyone IS entitled to their own opinion. Even if your opinion is a bigoted, skewed version of a 1920s “Utopian” society where everyone is exactly like you. I prefer the real world instead of Stepford. Your public rebuke of my lifestyle has no effect on my personal well-being. It only serves to momentarily annoy me and gives me fodder for my Rant-Cannon. So if you’re really intent on offending me next time, here’s what I have to say to you.

Dear Lady in line in front of me at Chick-fil-a: If I wanted to hear your opinion on homosexuals, I’d ask you kindly to please remove the cock from your mouth before talking. I don’t speak mumble.

Solicitation Scare

So let me tell you about my weekend. I flew back out to San Diego for a friend’s wedding. Craziness ensues, as per usual. On the second night I was there, my friend picks me up from my hotel and already has a story for me. Apparently, this cop had followed her along the freeway, exited at her exit, followed her ALL the way to the hotel and then gave her evil eyes as he pulled away. Keep in mind, she’s telling me this all as we’re pulling away from my hotel. Just as she finished her story – blue lights behind us. The cop had actually pulled off and waited for her to leave the hotel just so he could pull us over. He starts his spiel under the guise of her having a light out, particularly, the light that illuminates her license plate (I didn’t even know there was a light there). But when he asks me for my ID, then the truth comes out. Why does he need my ID? I’m the passenger? It’s not my car. I wasn’t driving. My seat belt is on. “We’ve been having some issues with prostitution in some of these hotels,” he states casually. EXCUSE ME?! What exactly are you implying, Mr. Officer? At this point, I can’t even hide the bitchy, sarcastic beast inside of me. Trust me, I’m trying very hard. So snide, bitchy me pulls out my other ID – the one that says I’m an officer as well – and hands it to him, facial expression not changing from my usual raised eyebrow, half-smile. But HIS face was priceless!! Full blush. “Sorry ma’am, it’s just these hotels are causing problems.” He gives us our IDs back and tells us to be careful and we’re on our way then. As I’m thinking about how utterly ridiculous that entire scenario was I realize what I’m wearing. Dear Mr. Police Officer: Next time you pull a girl over to accuse her of selling her body, make sure you check out the outfit first. Skinny jeans, Chuck Taylors, and an oversized Paramore T-shirt typically aren’t good for business. Not only did this guy think I was a whore, he thought I was a whore who takes no pride in her job!!