A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to My Sexual Orientation (17 page)

"You're...” Something dawned on her. “...not from around here are you?"

"No."

"I didn't think so.” At least she didn't look disappointed. That gave me hope.

"Most people recognize the economy package I just offered. Either that, or they're so rich they don't even think twice about money.” She looked directly at me. “Which one are you?"

"What was the middle part again?” Why should money matter? If she found me appealing and wanted to use my body for a sex toy, then more power to her. I was willing.

"Okay, I can see where this is going.” She looked disappointed this time, and also appeared to be mentally storing my answers on some invisible application. This was so businesslike it was starting to scare me. “What state are you from?"

"Michigan."

"Well...” She sighed in relief, as if having solved some puzzle. “...that explains it. Aren't you guys, like, the cheese capitol of the United States?"

"That's Wisconsin,” I informed her. “We've got the Great Lakes."

"Water. It's cheaper than cheese and doesn't come in as many flavors."

It had to be easier to get a bank loan than survive an interview with this woman just to put my hand on her back and spread suntan lotion!

"What city do you live in?"

"Detroit."

"You make automobiles. Am I supposed to be impressed?” She rolled her eyes. Was it really a question?

"Yes, but we also shoot people in automobiles."

"Now I'm supposed to be impressed with violence?” She eyed me carefully.

"We also have Snooky.” It was the only thing I could think of that sounded remotely impressive.

"She's just an urban legend.” The girl looked a little uneasy saying that out loud—you know, just in case it wasn't true. “What's your annual income?"

"Off the scale."

"That rich?” She raised her eyebrow.

"No.” I shook my head. “That poor.” Next.

"Occupation?"

"Student.” How could she hold getting an education against anyone? Surely this would impress her.

"Michigan State or U of M?” She had favorites.

"Grand Valley."

"How grand can it be? I've never heard of it."

Okay, enough was enough. It was obvious I'd picked a business major out looking to marry someone who would shower her with expensive gifts and take her to places I never knew existed because I couldn't afford them. Whatever happened to a man and woman meeting, liking the look of each other and then having hot, meaningless sex? The people I went to school with did it all the time. What made her so special? Did she actually have a conscience or something? And what about pity? It's not like I did this very often, or had the opportunity to.

"Let me get this straight.” I looked her right in the eyes. “You're asking all these questions and using my answers as the basis of whether or not I can put suntan lotion on you?"

"No, not anymore.” She peered piteously at me. “I withdraw the offer."

"You mean I don't have to pay?” This was good news. Actually, this was great news!

"No.” There went the roll of the eyes. Some part of me, the realistic part, had been waiting for that to happen. “It means you no longer get to put suntan lotion on my body, period. I don't give discounts or freebies to geeky students who go to universities I've never heard of.” If that wasn't cruel enough, she added, “You probably work for Kay-Mart, too.” I swore right then and there that if I ever wrote a book, I'd create a character based on her and have a very cruel fate waiting just around the corner for her. “Just because I'm not as popular as some of the other girls on the beach doesn't mean I don't have a reputation to maintain."

"You mean some of the other women are more difficult than this?” I didn't even want to know.

"I didn't charge you for talking to me, did I?"

She had a point. I turned and walked away, my head hanging low. If I ever did write that book, she would have a very cruel fate, indeed. Maybe I'd have her attacked by real crabs instead of just getting a case of them. Maybe I'd have her stung by jellyfish and dragged out into the ocean and eaten by a shark. Better yet, maybe I'd have her abducted on the way back to her car by a group of motorcycle mamas who would keep her as their leather love toy. Hey, I'm for feminism!

Both Jenny and Diane read the bitterness and disappointment in my eyes well enough to know what had happened. Heck, I'm sure they knew all along what would happen, but they had the decency not to ask or rub it in.

Upon my sitting down, one put a shot of tequila in my right hand while the other sprinkled salt on my left palm. God, they were understanding! After a second shot, I decided to take their original advice and pulled out my book to read while they talked about some of the guys’ packages. The words on the pages were unfortunately fuzzy, and I took a break shortly after. So much for my tolerance for alcohol.

I could still hear, though, and Jenny and Diane were having a debate about whether or not one particular guy's package was real or partially water-resistant material designed to give him that enhanced look. They both pulled out binoculars, and I was forced to tune them out when they started talking about what natural wrinkles on a man's...

Well, what they looked like versus the suspected fake material.

It was my impression that the debate ended a short time later when another unknowing subject walked by and they concentrated on him. Apparently, there were so many of these men they couldn't remember what they'd decided about the first guy when I inquired later on as we were leaving.

I may not have met any more women, but I did finally get some reading done as soon as my vision cleared. Feeding my brain was probably the smart thing to do, since crushing my ego any further might have actually led to a depression. I didn't come all this way to be depressed. Tomorrow was a new day, and maybe I'd score then.

We dropped Diane off then picked up Kenny. Jordan was cooking some burgers for himself and the kids when we ran in to quickly change clothes. He didn't say a word to me nor did he make direct eye contact. I really must have hit a nerve with him earlier, but there wasn't a chance to take him aside and tell him I was sorry before we were running back out the door again to hit Tower Records and then stop somewhere for dinner.

It didn't feel right to me to leave bad feelings between us. Just because he was gay didn't mean he didn't have feelings. That thought struck me almost as a revelation. I guess I never thought of it that way, that someone considered so deviant could also be human, that they really did have feelings. Of course, this revelation did absolutely nothing to make me feel better. It made it worse.

I'd learned two ways to beat a guilt trip in all my years of screwing things up. The first was to apologize to the person and try to right the wrong. The second was to go out and buy music! Considering the number of CDs and tapes I owned, I was going to hell.

Since I wasn't able to talk to Jordan this evening, I would have to do it tomorrow; but I still felt bad. This setback only allowed me to justify buying music tonight so I would feel better.

Tower Records was everything they'd promised me it would be. What I really liked about it, besides the selection, was that it was cheaper than Harmony House. Of course, these days, what wasn't? I picked up some Bronski Beat, Pet Shop Boys and Erasure while Jenny and Kenny bought some Paul McCartney, Rolling Stones and Don Henley. Their selections didn't thrill me as much as the ones I picked up, but I liked Don Henley well enough. I think my tastes had changed a bit since the Go-Gos had broken up.

New groups were appealing to me, and I couldn't put my finger on why. Maybe it was the synth sound, the oddly compelling lyrics or something in the singers’ voices. I really didn't know.

We headed out, after spending more than an hour in the store, for a Mexican restaurant they told me was to die for. I promised myself I was going to remember it this time. I also promised I wasn't going to drink, which is how I intended on remembering it.

The great thing about making promises to yourself is that they're like New Year's resolutions—bound to be broken sooner or later, and who would really know? I remembered the restaurant coming home, so I'd at least upheld half the promises to myself. The rest was drowned in a Corona with a half-piece of lime still stuck in the neck of the bottle. Unbeknownst to me, the other half of the lime was still stuck between my teeth.

Drinking is so not worth it.

[Back to Table of Contents]

The black-and-white waiting area was a bustle of activity. Students with gray backpacks flowed from one side of the room to the other. Some disappeared around a corner then reappeared moments later outside the large panoramic window I sat in front of while others walked inside offices, doors closing behind them. When the doors reopened, the students were gone as if they had never been there at all. I felt oddly like a character in a David Lynch film. What had they been doing, and where had they gone?

The woman sitting at the reception desk didn't seem to take any notice at all, so maybe this was a normal occurrence.

I glanced over at a table next to me. On top of a number of magazines like
Sports Illustrated, Time
and
Consumer Reports
was a class catalogue for UCLA.

That's right! Diane had suggested I consider transferring out to California to the university where Jordan went.
That's
what I was doing, checking to see what program would be best for me. It was funny how I couldn't remember something as simple as that. I definitely needed to stay focused if I was going to look into their English department and find out what it had to offer me.

"Andy Stevenson?” the receptionist called. “Reverend Shelton will see you now."

"Thank you.” I stood up and crossed to the office she was pointing to. Reverend? Why would there be a reverend in charge of recruiting students? Still, but it couldn't hurt to talk to him. He was obviously in that position for a reason.

I entered to find myself in a very large chapel, hardly what I was expecting. I turned around to see how all of this fit into a building that seemed quite a bit smaller from the outside, but the entrance was no longer there. Whatever. I was a writer, not an architect.

At the very front of the chapel, just in front of the altar, was a long desk with a man seated behind it flipping through some papers. Some of them must have been important because he spoke up and blessed one every once in a while.

"Please, my son...” Reverend Shelton looked up at me. “...come in and sit down. May I offer you some holy water or a communion wafer?"

"Thank you, no. I try not to snack between meals.” I walked to the desk and sat in a chair I hadn't noticed before. “I didn't think ministers gave out communion wafers."

"Generally, we don't. However, we're quite well-stocked, and it beats offering guilt trips and Hail Marys."

"Good point.” I had to give him credit for thinking of that one. What did he offer Buddhists? It must have been something they didn't have to worry about coming back as in their next life.

"Now, what troubles you?” He got right to the point.

"Nothing is bothering me. I was just entertaining thoughts about transferring out here from back home. I had questions and wanted to check into what kinds of programs were available."

Maybe the appointment person had made an error and sent me to the wrong counselor.

"Oh!” Reverend Shelton perked up. “That's right. You must be Andy.” He shuffled through some more papers until he found the one he wanted. “The appointment person made a mistake in sending you to me.” Well, that made sense. “I generally deal with the majority of the student body,” he ex-plained. “Those who are wholesome, pure, virtuous and straight."

"It's amazing you have any appointments at all.” I laughed softly. The reverend didn't seem too amused. “Uh, anyway, I'm fairly wholesome, pure—in body, at least—and very straight about what program I want to graduate in."

"I'm sorry,” he interrupted, “but you're going to have to talk to one of our special counselors, one who is trained in dealing with your kind."

"My kind? You mean transfer students?"

He gave me a look as if to say I knew exactly what he was talking about and it wasn't that.

"I'm a little lost here."

"I know you're lost, my son.” Reverend Shelton looked said and pointed to a door that had appeared to my left. “Go through there, and may God be with you and show you back to His kingdom."

"Thanks.” What a strange way for him to end our conversation.

I hadn't realized I was so far off the path in life God wanted me to follow. The reverend apparently had a paper that said so, though, so it must be true. Isn't that the way it worked with religion? It was printed somewhere and therefore must be true?

I stood up and started towards the door. Just before I opened it, I turned back around and could swear I saw the reverend shaking his head at my paper and mumbling something that sounded vaguely like “unholy.” Since when did the Church dislike English majors?

The next room turned out to be another waiting room, though it was very different from the first one I'd been in. For one, it wasn't all black and white. Colorful rainbows decorated these walls, and there were triangular chairs spread throughout the room. Even the pencils and pens lying on the receptionist's desk were the same colors found in the rest of the room. Was this the daycare part of the building? If the appointment person had made another mistake, they were going to hear about it!

"Andy?” A man poked his head out from one of two office doors, and I nodded. “Why don't you have a seat. I'm just finishing up with your sponsor, and then we'll get you in here in a moment."

"Okay.” Sponsor? What sponsor? I didn't realize I needed one and certainly never knew I had one. This whole procedure was entirely ridiculous. All I wanted to do was find out if the damn university had anything to offer me or not. The way things stood, I was more than content to go back to the cornfields, the smell of fertilizer and anti-McDonalds campaigns.