To Lunch

At lunch, I sit at a small table against the wall. Between me and the corner is a table for napkins, condiments and such. My chair is partly angled against the wall, so I can survey the room. I feel like a riverboat gambler or a gunslinger who has to have his back to the wall. (With my right hand, I reach down to position my holster in case I need to make a fast draw.)

To my left are large mirrors that take up all the wall space. But these mirrors are almost invisible. Everyone more or less ignores them. For example, I've never seen a guy get up from eating, glance in the mirror and straighten his tie. For that matter, I've never noticed anyone deliberately looking at his/herself in the mirrors.

Whenever I catch my reflection, I think that I look a tad seedy for a randy 12-year-old. Occasionally when I'm standing in line, I'll notice myself. And I'm always conscious of how tall I'm. Or maybe I'm more aware of how many short people there are.

(A brief diversion. Some years ago I was in Manhattan on 7th Avenue at lunch time. And it was like fucking munchkin land! I could see over the heads of almost everyone in sight. I swear they must have been stopping anyone taller that 5' at the city limits. Finally, at a distance I saw a tall black guy wearing a white cap. As we approached, I nodded to him and slowly moved my head left and right while looking down. I think he must have caught the joke because he started to laugh.)

As I nibble, I glance in the mirrors from time to time to cruise the area. (I guess it's one of those tricks guys learn while leaning against the wall in gay bars.) I've tuned my antenna for OGT - Obviously Gay Traits. BUT I don't see anyone reading "Out." No one is carrying a Streisand CD. I listen carefully for conversations about re-decorating the bathroom. I even try lip reading to see if anyone is discussing Madonna but to no avail. My gaydar does not issue a beep.

I finish eating my tuna sandwich, then detach the clingy wrap from my chocolate chip cookie. I gingerly snap off sections enjoying the cumbly taste of the cookie. And trying without success not to smear the chocolate unto "The New Yorker" I'm reading. Finally, the snack is gone. I try to be sophsticated, but there is a great temptation to whip out my tongue and start licking the clingy wrap.

In one hand, I grab the magazine, shades and napkins. In the other hand, I hold my car keys and a large container of sweet iced tea. I amble out the door, carefully cross the pavement, and wander toward my car. At the car door, I juggle everything around, open the door and get in. I hold the iced tea in one hand and start the car with the other. I back out, shift to drive, and motor off into the noon day haze.

And that is the story of my lunch. Tune in tomorrow for another exciting adventure! Not to be missed! Sure to be suspense-filled and jam-packed with breathless moments!

PAX!