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JENSEN'S MENU: "Searching For
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by Garth Jensen Ringing phones, customers both pleasant and angry, screaming children, and irate, ignorant bosses. The most wonderful time of the year becomes hell on earth if you work in retail during Christmas season. I'm an associate in the Electronics department of one of the biggest discount retailers in the world. My arch-nemesis, a cocky and homophobic Italian guy, works behind me in the furniture department. (I figure that's about the only way he'll ever touch wood, or be working behind me in any fashion.) I wrote one song about the guy, and he's never quite forgiven me for it. Sheesh. But that's me: student and retail slave by day, aspiring artist by night. When I'm not dodging questions about whether "Lord of the Rings" comes in French and English DVDs, I'm trying to get to the next level of my life. In the mean time, though, I do what all red-blooded young men do: I travel downtown and rent pornography. That may sound blunt, but I read a theory that gay men have no shame about this because nothing can top living through the "coming out" process. I've made my treks to Toronto's gay village a routine, where the long travel times allow me some quiet reflection before I dive back into my regular "roles" in life. I still remember how odd it was to sign up for a membership in one of the village's "adult" stores. The zaftig clerk practically stared me down when I told him I was from Markham. "Why don't you get a membership there?" He sneered. I wanted to snap back, "Well, you see, if you stepped outside your gay utopia, you'd know that Markham only has about 10 gay titles and I've rented them all." But, instead, I politely explained that I wanted greater selection, and he reluctantly gave me a membership. You'd think going to the gay village would provide a sense of community, yet I feel more like a visiting tourist. Sharing a sexual orientation, unfortunately, does not equal instant cameraderie. On one recent trip, I arrived and carefully chose what titles I wanted to watch. Brazilian jocks? Italian gardeners? They've got it all, but I go with the Brazilians, since they capture the best mix of Gino-machismo and gay sex. Not too long ago, I came across an article about how a good portion of gay porn actors are supposedly straight, and do it for the money. I wonder how this connects with all the guys I've seen in real life, who desperately want to appear "straight," or stay in the closet, trying to conceal what society holds against them. I wonder how this connects with the videos I've just rented. I leave, and start to make my way home. I was on the final portion of my journey, riding the bus home, when an olive skinned man got on. He immediately grabbed my attention. I looked at him a bit, but averted my eyes before it could become a full-fledged stare. He headed towards the back of the bus, almost losing his balance, stopping right in front of me. He then turned around, and moved back to the middle of the vehicle where a buxom blonde was sitting. Did he know her? Was he asking for directions? Of course he'd go for a woman, I sighed to myself. Then he got back up and moved on, eventually sitting down directly across from me. I knew nothing about him, except for the fact that he seemed Middle Eastern or Italian. I took my chance to devour his appearance. Golden skin, dress pants, a zipped up, dark vest, and a gold chain loosely fitted over his tie and collared white shirt. He stretched his legs out, and I kept looking at him, hoping he'd notice. But every time our eyes met, I'd move my gaze quickly, and my heart would jump. I didn't want to offend him and get killed, since the zaftig video clerk would probably be upset if my movies weren't returned at 7pm sharp the next day. At this point, he put on his headphones, and closed his eyes. His thick, black lashes seemed to mask the windows to his soul, and I wondered what might be inside of those portals. Judging by his outfit, he might be jailbait from a Catholic school, yet, he looks like he must be in his late teens, or early twenties. Maybe he just finished work? The music was visibly effecting him, absorbing him. He gently tilted his head back and forth, seemingly in ecstasy. His eyes remained shut, and his lips parted just enough so that his teeth began to show. It was like that moment from the movie "When Harry Met Sally." I wanted to say, "I'll have what you're listening to!" Could music really be that enticing to him? It couldn't be an Herbal Essences moment, since his hair was cropped very closely to his head. His hands were tucked into the front of his vest, where his walkman provided him with the grooves and the moods. My stop was coming up, so I rang the bell, and stole another look at my newly minted, unattainable crush. As I picked up my bags, the buxom blonde on the bus also got up. As she, I, and a couple of other passengers left the vehicle, I noticed my "Bus Boy" get out, as well. I crossed to my side of the street, while the blonde went in the opposite direction. I turned back for a moment to see the "Bus Boy" look around, a bit confused, and then quickly go back to the door of the vehicle, where the driver let him back on. Did he get out to follow her? Did he get out to follow me? (I wish.) Or was he just really confused about his sense of direction? (Even I sometimes feel like my inner Goldie Hawn emerges when I travel.) The streets inadvertently symbolized the Bus Boy's choices: follow the guy in that direction, and you're gay; follow the woman in that direction, and you're straight; or get back on the bus and don't think about it. I knew I had my Brazilian hunks to keep me company via video that night, but the man on the bus made me realize that there's something missing. I'm still looking for love, understanding, and company in all the wrong places. I've been trying to avoid thinking about that, and it's something I still can't face. The fact that the "Bus Boy" could just get off at the wrong stop, and get right back on, makes me think about whether or not I've been making the right stops in my life. Do I have any sense of knowing when to get on, or get off? As I reach my house, I look at my tapes, and am at least assured that one of those choices will be easy to make. But when it's time to hit rewind, I'll have to get ready to face another day. I'll crack the books, study a bit, and get ready to go back to work the next day with the same smile that my job requires. I'll go back with the same tolerance of my furniture co-worker whining about why something is "so gay," and the same hope that someday he won't be so homophobic and maybe understand me as a person. I'll go on with the same craving to be some sort of artistic success, and with the same craving to make a deeper connection with a man like the mysterious "Bus Boy." I live, I crave, I work, and I survive. That's me: student and retail slave by day, aspiring artist by night. I'll continue to revamp this page over time. For now, also check out my service provider Inter.Net. And e-mail me at arrikj@ca.inter.net |