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Chicks with Sticks
By Anonymous | August 6, 2007
I have a friend who, like The Todd in Scrubs, is most likely gay but refuses to admit it. Furthermore, he (call him Shane) makes up for it by relentlessly and rather garishly hitting on every woman he meets, and frequently speaking of his heterosexual exploits. I and a few of his other well-meaning friends thought it would be hilarious to test just how straight he thinks he is. Fortunately for Shane, his 24th birthday coincided with Drag Night at a local gay bar in Minneapolis, and I thought it would be the perfect opportunity to get Shane in touch with his true self.
We started drinking after work at Shane’s favorite Happy Hour drinkery, a martini bar downtown. Several Stoli Razberi martinis later (tell me he’s not gay!) we moved on to our favorite rib restaurant and gorged on ribs, fries, and at least six beers apiece until about 11 o’clock. At this point, Shane was right at the border of barely coherent and blackout. This was the perfect level for him as a blackout Shane would surely get us kicked out of the club. We took a cab uptown to the spot of Shane’s birthday present.
I had failed to do my homework, but luckily, this place had no telltale signs outside that it was a gay club. We went in and there was roughly a 60:40 ratio of guys to “girls.” Best of all, these “girls” tried very hard to look the part – apparently there was prize money for the winner. I remember thinking to myself, “It’s a good thing I know these are dudes. It’s a better thing that Shane doesn’t.”
Shane found himself a ‘girl’ named Miracle and began attempting to dance with and hit on her. At this point the rest of us gathered together and took turns glancing at Shane’s progress. We discussed whether we thought Shane was convinced that he was hitting on a girl, or whether he actually wanted to hook up with a guy, and then tell us later that he thought he was with a girl.
We soon found out as Shane began making out with his new friend, prompting in-mouth vomiting among the rest of us and discussions of whether we should bail Shane out of what had gone from a hilarious joke to a disgusting exemplification of the quote: “Be careful what you wish for.” When Shane walked by us and mouthed the words, “Her place,” I felt I had to intervene. Outside the club, I asked, “Miracle, is it? I have to know, inboard or outboard?” Miracle countered sheepishly, “Asshole.” She let go of Shane and walked into a cab and shut the door before he could get in. Shane looked at me like I just punched his mother in the face, and started to yell “YOU MOTHERFU–” and then vomited on my shoes.
The next day, Shane couldn’t remember a thing from the gay club, and no one has since told him that he made out with (and were it not for my damn conscience) would have hooked up with a guy in drag named Miracle.
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