:: Turning gold to chrome

Him: “Are you a lesbian?”

Not again.

Me: “What does that have to do with anything?”

I’m annoyed at being interrupted with this kind of inane question. Again. Twice in as many days, makes you wonder if someone tattooed “Lesbian” in capitals all over your forehead without you noticing. And all I really want at that moment is to just continue dancing. (Lovely DJs that night!).

“Well, yes or no?”

Considering my options. Answers along the lines of in regards to you, most definitely might be more trouble than it’s worth.

“It’s none of your business.”

At last he gives up in disgust. Of course, he’s now convinced that I am a lesbian and simply too ashamed to admit to it. Not that I mind, at least it keeps him from trying to flirt and means I can continue showing my appreciation to the DJ.

Quite some time later I watch one of the door guards grabbing his arm and half dragging half guiding him at top speed towards one of the emergency exits. Unfortunately, I don’t know what it was he did that validating ejecting him. Maybe he asked the guard if he was gay, too.

Walking along a passageway connecting the different subway lines. In front and slightly to the left of me, a man suddenly lights a cigarette and starts drawing on it rapidly. A cloud of smoke billows right into my face. He turns around and catches my disapproving glance at his hand holding the cigarette.

He mutters something I can’t quiet make out, not an apology, a question. Since his general appearance isn’t exactly confidence inspiring, I ignore him and walk on. He drops back to fall in beside me, still smoking compulsively.

Him (false smile): “How are you?”

I continue walking, ignoring him after another short glance, not quiet a smile on my face. Not an unfriendly expression, but not one inviting further conversation either.

Him (slightly louder): “Are you a lesbian? You act like a lesbian!”

How exactly did he arrive at that conclusion? I don’t like cigarettes (being smoked in a public building where smoking has been prohibited for more years than I can remember), so I must be a lesbian? I don’t feel like talking to a smoking, smelly, badly dressed stranger with no manners, so I must be a lesbian? You haven’t got laid in a long time have you? And when you did, I’m just guessing here, but correct me if I’m wrong, your charming manner wasn’t the transaction’s currency.

Unfortunately, while I would have liked to come up with a witty, cutting reply to his bit of idiocy, at the time I was simply too unprepared to react at all and just kept walking, trying hard not to laugh.

He ignores me after that and takes a different train, still smoking as he gets on.