Sean doesn’t like The Buckeye.
“He’s homophobic,” he said. “I felt it during training. It was very obvious. He wouldn’t look at me or call on me. He completely ignored me.”
Sean is in his mid 30s and has been a server for the last ten years. He was forced into the industry when his parents disowned him and took away the trust fund once he came out of the closet. Although he’s still coping with the damage, it hasn’t stopped him from being himself. He’s fluttery and snaps his head around even if no one calls his name. He keeps his chin up, chest out, back bowed, ass out, wrists limp, and lips pursed.
The Buckeye is one of those guys who likes to start a sentence with, “I’m not homophobic, but…” Never finish that sentence if you don’t want to sound homophobic. Just end it at I’m not Homophobic, otherwise you’re going to sound homophobic. It’s that simple. If you were truly not homophobic, that sentence wouldn’t even start from your lips, but we’re dealing with a bro from Ohio who’s trying his hardest to let L.A. culture him. What I’ve gathered from my six years of working with him is that he’s cool with homosexuality just as long as it’s not obvious, which is disgusting and why we need people like Sean shoving it down his throat.
“He doesn’t mind homosexuality,” I said. “He just doesn’t like faggots.”
That hit Sean hard.
“Are you saying I’m not butch?” he asked, shocked.
I was not about to turn this into a game of How Butch Are You?
“Why do you even care if he likes you Sean? Does it really matter?”
“I knooooooow,” he sighed. “It just reminds me of middle school and I hate those feelings.”
“Consider it a blessing he doesn’t talk to you.”
I get it, though. Sean is looking for acceptance, as we all are. He just needs to choose people worth it, and The Buckeye is not one of them.