Bad Stereotypes - 3. Sunday 2nd of June 2013

It had been a long time since I was awake and sober at four in the morning. It had been a really long night. Dale had been with me all night and I’d stuck to him like an extra shadow all evening. At four he’d shown me how to do the locks, set and de-activate all the alarms and generally get set up for the evening. The head barman James had arrived and done a power-round of fancy cocktails for regulars who showed up bang on opening time. While it was quiet I learnt the till system, fumbled with hot glasses out of the washer and cleared around a bit while I watched James.

He was… where were the men who looked like him back home? He was tall, chiselled, rugged, with winding tattoos up arms that could only be defined as beefy. He wielded the bottles of spirits and the pumps like a pro. Spiked hair and sparkly eyes grinned at me every time he saw me looking lost. About seven o’clock we grabbed cokes and fries and sat at a small table outside where working goths sat and drank their evening cider and we chatted about this and that.

James was twenty three, had worked his way through college and taken a short course in hospitality and management. He was working, playing in his band and saving up to one day have a swish black cocktail bar all his own. I couldn’t stop staring, I mean he was drop dead gorgeous, but that line of fantasy stopped when his girlfriend showed up with low slung jeans, a filled out black Vince Ray pin-up girl t-shirt and red lip-stick kisses.

“Hey baby. Who’s the kid?” she swung onto his lap and wriggled, “You’re kind of pretty, boy. Brave choice of colours though. We don’t see a lot of orange.”

James rolled his eyes at me.

“Hun, be nice. This is Bay. Dale’s er… He’s working here now.” James gestured to me with an inked hand, “Bay, this is Sal, my girlfriend.”

“And the DJ. I run the booth downstairs.” She smiled nicely, and then went back to sucking face with James. I shrugged, break over, and went back inside where Dale had me serve a few customers and encouraged me to chat.

We sat in the back office and did the orders in the quiet hour between ten and eleven when the bar goers trickled out before club kids trickled in. Dale explained that he wanted me to take over the day to day running for the summer, or for as long as I wanted. I could split my shifts, sleep upstairs when it was quiet and I wasn’t needed, and I’d be responsible for locking up. It was a great deal.

James quit his hours at midnight, hung about for a bit with his lady and then begged off for the night. I cleared glasses with a curvy girl with bright green dreads and many piercing who introduced herself as “Batty” and flirted outrageously with everyone. She was fun. Sal was a good DJ, ran the booth well and played the right requests. The place was packed. Saturday’s were the all-round night, mixtures of classic rock, new metal, anthems and big guitars solo’s as well as songs which verged on the edge of pop but still knew all about rock and roll. I liked South Alaska.

Quarter to three we turned up the house lights and kicked everyone out. I stood at the coat check in and watched people trickle out towards the sea. Light was coming wanly over the horizon, though the sky at zenith was still pitch black. Dale yawned as we shut down the bar. The bouncers locked up the main front door and headed down for a pint and I found myself standing in front of the biggest guy I’d ever seen.

“Bay, this is Zoltan.”

I looked up, and up. Big face with rough stubble and goatee, hard eyes.

“Hi.”

“You’re alright kiddo. Try not to stare so much.”

Batty grinned at me.

“His brother plays murderball, you know, wheelchair-quad-rugby? They are both totally nuts.” She flicked her dreads and handed the big guy his drink, “You’ll meet him soon enough. Game day tomorrow right Zoltan?”

“Aye. We’ll make sure to send those Northern bastards packing that’s for sure.” And then the conversation became largely impenetrable to me.

We cleared down, I did the alarms with Dale, locked everything up and waved him off before I went upstairs. I thought about skipping the shower, but my subconscious knew better so I stripped, threw my sweat and beer stained clothes in the hamper and poured myself into a five minute hot shower. After that there was no stopping me. I barely made it up the spiralled stairs to bed before collapsing on the double mattress still half wrapped in a towel.

It was probably passing out more than actual sleeping. I snapped awake in the sunshine seven hours later with a mouth dry as the desert and stiffness in every joint. I nearly fell down the stairs getting out of bed. In the bathroom mirror I surveyed the damage of my first working night.

Pale skin, slightly tired looking brown eyes, very messy black hair, not dyed. I was proud of that. I’m a geek and runner, so my body reflected that. Thin, toned from running, small waist. People see me as being small and I hated that. I wished I was taller. I shaved blearily, then threw on my running gear, loose shorts and a white and red top, laced up my favourite neon green trainers and jogged downstairs. I tucked the keys into the pouch on my mp3 armband, hooked on my music and jogged away from South Alaska towards the sea. Crossing the main road was fun, a solid wall of traffic, people travelling into the city for sea and sunshine and I wondered how much worse it would get during school holidays.

I love to run. Being a little bit geeky as a kid and being short, slender and pale could have made me an easy target. I was smart, and while not socially popular, I had enough friends to make me accepted. I ran because it was fun, races at play time in primary school which made me popular, and then I found that running was something I needed. Time to think, time by myself, when no one ever asked questions or tried to pry and nothing was said beyond “how was your run?” I could clear my head, pound my anxieties and worries out into the pavement and simply breath in through the rush of endorphins. I loved to run. And running gave me a figure I was proud of, and it was nice to be ‘the geek’ who wasn’t shy about taking his shirt off, or dashing about to play Frisbee with my mates. I sighed to think of all those ‘mates’ who had abandoned me in light of my announcement.

I was hot, in was the weekend, and the wide promenade was littered with people, kids, dogs, cyclists both in and out of their dedicated lane and other runners. Women in packs and pink t-shirts jogged up and down and bounced. A group of guys who were clearly jocks thundered by as I crossed the road. I turned west, towards the marina, shook out my limbs and eased into my favourite pace. Carrying nothing, with Metallica’s S&M album blasting into my skull, I could run all day.

I reached the marina in twenty minutes, loped the distance of the harbour wall and started back along the seafront at a reduced pace. I thought about what Dale had said to me just before locking up.

“There were girls flirting with you Bay.”

“Yeah.”

My godfather had given me a hard look which I couldn’t quite determine.

“Be careful kiddo.”

And now that I had run seven miles my brain had cleared enough for me to face up to what he really meant. I hadn’t told anyone I was gay. OK, so they hadn’t asked, which was one thing, but I hadn’t come out and said it. And that was a problem. Girls had flirted and winked, Jason had cuffed me on the shoulder when he’d thought I was checking out Sal, when all I’d been checking out was her laptop specs. It was nice not for people to assume I was gay. That was something that had hounded me a little bit, until I’d shut everyone up by dating girls and generally hiding away with my computer. Running gave good credentials.

And now I was, if not officially, then at least sort of, back in the closet. I’d always thought it was a weird phrase, a strange metaphor for someday emerging changed, new, different and special. Being gay didn’t make me special, and as I had already seen, there were no guys hanging around at the South Alaska who were like me. The only gay metal-head… god what a title to bear and live with. And Zoltan had looked at me funny. I hated being the little guy. He was suspicious of me, that was for sure. And if I came out at work… Dale was cool, but I had no idea what everyone else would be like.

I didn’t like the way my thoughts were twisting, so I ran.