I got him back on his feet, held him while he puked. He was friendly and laughed a lot, but there was something about him-something I couldn't put my finger on. Over the next few hours, he spent thousands of dollars buying drinks for everyone in sight. He wanted me to go up to him and introduce myself, make him feel special. In my first few months working gay bar doors, a handsome man came into the bar, well-dressed in a dark suit.Īround 11 PM, the floor manager came to me and said the suited guy was buying drinks for everyone at the bar. I saw a community that stood up and came together in the face of oppression and sorrow. We thought nobody would come that night, but they congregated at the bar, and together we danced and mourned, cried and hugged one another. When last year a man walked into a gay bar in Orlando and gunned us down in an act so horrifying it seemed like none of us might be safe, the men in my community showed up strong.
When we weren't accepted in public, bars became a place we could go to be with others like us-to dance and kiss and fuck and love, to mourn and dream.
That's true of straight bars too, but I believe that gay bars are special, safe places where queer people can be our truest selves. The whole scope of life, from joy to sorrow, plays out in gay bars nightly.
