August 28, 1998 - My Queer Life

LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth

My Queer Life

Id like to take this opportunity to bid a sad farewell to Norfolk, Virginias OUR OWN paper, which recently folded after more than twenty years of excellence. OUR OWN is where "My Queer Life" began, and I will miss them. When something like this happens, it makes me appreciate all of you who work so hard to keep your papers going. Thank you all for giving me and other writers a place to have our say.

Sticker Shock

One afternoon a few weeks ago, my roommate pulled up to the house in a car that wasnt his.

"Whats that?" I asked from my perch on the front steps, where the dog and I were sitting.

"Its your new car," he said, tossing me a set of keys.

"I didnt buy a car," I said.

"I got a great deal on it at the garage," he explained. "You need a car, and I figured this was a good way to pay you back for when I was out of work and couldnt pay rent."

And just like that, I became a car owner.

As it turned out, before I could actually get into the car and take it anywhere, I had to register and insure it. This involved standing in sixty- three different lines and filling out five hundred forms, none of which I did correctly. I didnt know what the exact mileage was on the odometer. I couldnt trace the succession of owners back to the day the car rolled off the assembly line. I drew a blank when the insurance salesman asked me if I wanted blanket collision coverage or a per-item deductible based on standard industry scales.

Somehow I managed to get through it all, and ended up with a car that was registered, insured, and inspected. But before I could actually consider the process finished, there was one final decision to be made. One that mas more crucial than all of the others combined.

"What kind of sticker are you going to put on the bumper?" my friend Diane asked as we stood looking at my newly-insured and approved conveyance.

"Sticker?" I said.

"Sure," she said. "You need a sticker. Its your statement about who you are. Otherwise its just a car."

Suddenly, the whole notion of car ownership took on an entirely new dimension. Before Id simply thought of it as something to get around in if need be. But now it was an accessory. I had a reason to be interested.

I knew I wanted a gay-themed sticker. On the few times Id been riding around in some unfamiliar territory while traveling, seeing a pink triangle or other identifying sticker on another car had always been reassuring. So off we went to the local gay bookstore, where I discovered a dizzying array of stickers, all in rainbow colors.

"How about this flag?" I suggested. "Its simple and to the point."

Diane scoffed. "That is so last year," she said. She picked up a rainbow peace sign. "How about this? Two messages in one."

"I dont think so," I said. "Its too Grateful Dead."

I wanted to find just the right stickerone that would make a comment about some part of gay culture that I had an interest in. Something that would be me. We looked at rainbow triangles, rainbow Mars symbols, and rainbow cowboy boots. We considered and rejected stickers shaped like rainbow-tinted states of Massachusetts, a rainbow dog paw, and a sticker that said "Butch" in rainbow letters.

I was just about to give up and settle for last years rainbow flag when I unearthed a rainbow sticker shaped like a bear. Having something of an affinity for hairy men, I thought it would be just the thing to let them know an admirer was driving along in front of them.

I put the rainbow bear on my rear bumper, where it looked very proud indeed next to the Southern New England AAA sticker. I had visions of some day needing a tow and discovering that the studly truck driver, clued in by seeing my rainbow bear sticker, was playing on my team.

I began to drive the car around, tentatively at first. I was a little shaky after more than a decade of being a simple pedestrian. But after a couple of days, when nothing really awful had happened, I started to loosen up. It was kind of nice to be able to go to the grocery store when I wanted to, and not to have to carry the laundry down the street. Best of all, I started to notice all of the rainbow stickers affixed to bumpers and rear windows as I drove around. It was great to see family on the road, and I imagined people noticing my rainbow bear and nodding in solidarity. But what I was really waiting for was the chance to use it as date bait.

Then one day, when I drove the dog to the park for his evening swim, a man parked near me in a pickup stuck his head out of his window.

"Hey," he said. "Nice sticker."

"Here we go," I thought excitedly, noting his outdoorsy look and flannel shirt. "Its working."

"Its great to see that," he said, smiling. "Makes me feel right at home."

I noted his hairy forearm where it rested along the windows edge. I tried to get a closer look at his open shirt, to see just how bear-like he really was.

"Well," I said. "Most guys are still into that smooth look. But that just leaves more hairy men for the rest of us."

He gave me a weird look. "Hairy guys?" he said.

"Yeah," I answered. "You know, bears. Hair. Bears."

"Oh," he said after a moment. He sounded disappointed. "I get it now. Sorry. I thought it stood for gay guys from Maine. Im visiting from Bangor, and I thought you might be from around there too."

With that, he rolled up his window and left, before I could even offer to pack up my things and move further north with him. Dejected, I turned to let the dog out of the car.

But I couldnt. In my excitement, Id shut the door and left the keys inside.

Michael Thomas Ford is the author of Alec Baldwin Doesnt Love Me & Other Trials from My Queer Life. He always obeys the speed limit.

LETTERS From CAMP Rehoboth, Vol. 8, No. 12, August 28, 1998.