SGM Seeks LTR in NYC: JT vs. Bigotry in Many Forms!

So, last week I was helping my buddy Charlie move a subletter into his apartment. He was going on an extended business trip that would keep him out of the city for most of the summer, and figured he might as well have someone in his place and paying the rent instead of eating it for two months. His new tenant was a young girl he knew through a couple friends from upstate New York, and she was moving to the city to become a famous actress.

“Like Kim Kardashian,” she explained, snapping her gum and primping in front of a mirror as her mother and father hauled boxes up the five flight of stairs to Charlie’s apartment.

I refuse to ever behave like one of the “liberal elites” –

You betcha.

– but as I watched her be-mulletted father sweating through his “If You Can Read This, The Bitch Fell Off” T-shirt, and her mother scowling at Charlie’s tasteful decorations and trying to figure out if she could hide a valuable-looking trinket beneath her belly rolls on her way out, all I wanted was to crack a giant whip and yell, “Get thee back to the provinces!”

“They got a Walmart in this neighborhood?” the father asked, scratching himself.

“Uh … no,” I explained. “There’s no Walmart in Manhattan.”

“The whole Manhattan? How the hell you get by without a Walmart?” the mother asked, and she and the father exchanged a hearty laugh, as though I had just told them we only eat by foraging for truffles on the side of a highway.

“Well, I think there's a Target somewhere on the East side,” I said."There's definitely one in Brooklyn."

They looked at each other and rolled their eyes, resigned to the fact their daughter was living among uncouth savages. As they unloaded her boxes, she started throwing a screaming fit because her parents had bought her light skinny jeans, when she had clearly specified she wanted dark skinny jeans. I motioned to Charlie to meet me in the kitchen.

Once out of sight, I mouthed, “Oh, my god!” He mouthed back, “I know!” We shared a quick noiseless laugh, and then he launched into a silent monologue, gesticulating wildly.

“Dude!” I whisper-shouted. “I’m not an expert lip-reader.”

He laughed and whispered, “Sorry. I was just saying she’s from this tiny hick town outside of Albany, so they’re a little … you know.”

Memories of driving through some of the redneckier areas of upstate New York flashed through my mind. One time I even saw a Confederate flag hanging from a window, which if you know anything about American history and geography is comical in its racist obliviousness.

So much wrong. Where to start?

My eyes narrowed into slits as I watched the three interlopers arguing on which wall they should hang her family photos, each boasting a minimum of one NASCAR T-shirt. But then I remembered one time when Morris, in a moment of gentle honesty, told me that I could be quick to cast judgment on people, and my heart softened. Sure, they wanted to make sure they got home on time to watch “the Bill O’Reilly” on “the teevee,” but who among us is without fault or shame-based indulgences?

Judgey McJudgerstein no longer, I would embrace this new family as but an extension of my own. To me, my new friends! Let us all join hands in the name of the human spirit!

Then her dad pulled out a camera, handed it to Charlie, and said, “You mind taking a picture of us? I’m going to be really gay and take a lot of pictures.”

My head whipped in his direction so fast you could hear the whoosh sound. Figuring it wasn’t on his agenda for the day to grease himself up and head to the nearest bathhouse with a camera in tow, I can only assume he was using the word “gay” to mean “lame.”

This was a man, mind you, in his 50’s.

Charlie, frowning, awkwardly took the camera from him and snapped a picture as the mother sucked in her gut and the dad put bunny ears behind his daughter’s head, who was busy turning her profile to the camera and sticking out her ass and boobs. I only realized my hands were clenched into fists because my fingernails starting cutting deeply into my palms.

Eventually the parents took off. Fuming, I walked with them to the street. A handsome African-American guy in an Armani suit walked past us, and I saw the father put one arm protectively around his wife and another on his wallet. I made furious eye contact with Charlie, who just shook his head and rolled his eyes.

After the parents drove away, I guess Charlie’s curiosity got the better of him, so he politely turned to his subletter and said, “So, your dad used the term “gay” pretty pejoratively. Did you not tell him JT and I are both gay?”

“Oh,” she said. “No, he knew. That’s just how he is. Isn’t he adorable? Anyway, I have a HUGE dilemma – I need to buy some new shirts. It’s really tough, though, because I’m SO skinny but my boobs are SO big. Girls just HATE me. Which way is St. Mark’s Place?”

I explained to her how to get there, and she, who had spent a few weeks in New York some number of years ago and hadn’t been back since, crinkled her nose and said, “No, that’s wrong. Whatever, I’ll find it. I better find a hot guy to f**k tonight or I’m going to be pissed.”

By this point, I’d had enough, so I gave Charlie a hug and told him I was taking off.

“Hey, I never asked you, how did everything turn out with Ben?”

“Oh, just awesomely,” I said. “I’ll tell you about it another time.”