Everybody was Kung-Fu FOTTing!

A couple of years ago, the wife and I were meeting up with her gay cousin and his friends at a...well...a gay bar. (Straight, gay, bi, whatever - a cool person is still a cool person in my book.) Well, we got there and her cousin had a car problem, so Pixie offered to go pick him up and I stayed behind at the bar, shooting pool.

Shortly thereafter, I sat at the bar and ordered my fav drink, a Whiskey Sour. A guy next to me started idle conversation and pointed up to the (straight) porn playing on the TV. As I was looking at the TV, he made a sexual offer and I told him that I was straight and was waiting for my wife to get back. We sat in silence for a couple minutes and then he left.

I had broken the number one rule: I took my eyes off my drink.

When I looked down, it seemed like the glass had moved, but I dismissed it and took another drink. (Very out of character for me...as I am super paranoid...)

A few minutes later, I knew something was wrong. I started having trouble focusing, but not in the buzzed way (plus, I know my alcohol tolerance and knew I was nowhere near feeling the alcohol). I noticed I felt really uncoordinated, like I REALLY had to concentrate to get my limbs to do what they wanted.

I got out of the bar, hoping fresh air would help. It didn't. I figured what had happened, but was alone because my wife wasn't back yet with the car. I was next to a gas station and there was some school-type building across the street. I went into the gas station and bought a bunch of those peanut and cheese cracker things and some water. I found a dark alcove on the side of the school where I could be hidden in the dark with three brick walls behind me and behind a generator thing so I couldn't be seen from the street.

My hastily constructed plan was to eat the crackers, not just on the thin hope to absorb whatever got into me, but I knew I had to get whatever it was out.

So, I hid in the darkness, head spinning, trying to make myself puke like a prom date. Sadly, I don't have much of a gag reflex, so it was far more difficult than I expected. I phoned Pixie on her cell and tried to explain what I suspect happened, but by then, I was having trouble speaking as well. After about 30 minutes, she got back and drove us home. I climbed into an ice cold shower to force myself to stay awake. Pixie, who knows what I am like drunk, was scared because she suspected I was slipped GHB into my drink (Judging by the numbness, head spinning, disorientation, etc). As it was, the time she got back to the bar, I was barely able to stand and it took a massive amount of effort to stay conscious.

She kept me up a few hours after we got home, and considered taking me to the hospital, but it seemed like the worst had passed.

The next day, I had total recall over everything, and she chewed me out for taking my eyes off my drink. She went on to describe other possible outcomes had I not figured things out when I did...and let's just say I'd rather not discuss them!

I can look back and laugh at how stupid I was...but at the time, Pixie had to hold me back from going back the next week because I planned on finding the guy and exacting vengence. She calmed me down, so that I wouldn't go to jail for a hate crime...but it still bothers me to think of others this scum may have pulled crap on...

As a young 16 year old working his first real job at Target, I was quite impressionable. First day there, I'm introduced to a fellow cashier. Let's call him Paul. I don't remember his name honestly, but I'll call him Paul.

So I shadow him for a while - he shows me how to work the register and all that. Helps me out if I have issues or whatever. Struck me as nice, maybe a little too much. I don't want to paint myself as homophobic because I'm really not, but there are times when the senses pick up on things.

A few days of this continue, no big deal.

Then we have our first night to close. Paul says he's going to show me the ropes on what to do. Store finally closes and he's leading me around the different aisles to straighten stuff up and the like.

"Strell" (we'll use that for me) he says, "I have a confession."

The next words flashed through my head before he said them.

"I'm gay."

I just kind of shrug it off and don't really say much, keeping with the work. He then asks me if I am. I politely tell him now and we just continue what needs to be done. I'm not alarmed or anything like that.

Really the only thing I took an issue with was that he then asked me if I were gay, would I find him attractive. This in and of itself isn't a bad comment at all, but he takes it a little over the line and asks me if I'd blow him if he asked.

Yeah. I stopped responding after that.

Over the next few weeks I talked with some of the other cashiers, and apparently Paul had asked this of several guys working there, particularly the new ones. This makes it sound like an initiation sort of thing, but from their descriptions, I'm pretty sure that wasn't the case.

Years later I realized that I probably could have sued the store and gotten some quick cash out of it, but ehh. I'm just not that big of a jerk. Usually.

As a young 16 year old working his first real job at Target, I was quite impressionable. First day there, I'm introduced to a fellow cashier. Let's call him Paul. I don't remember his name honestly, but I'll call him Paul.

So I shadow him for a while - he shows me how to work the register and all that. Helps me out if I have issues or whatever. Struck me as nice, maybe a little too much. I don't want to paint myself as homophobic because I'm really not, but there are times when the senses pick up on things.

A few days of this continue, no big deal.

Then we have our first night to close. Paul says he's going to show me the ropes on what to do. Store finally closes and he's leading me around the different aisles to straighten stuff up and the like.

"Strell" (we'll use that for me) he says, "I have a confession."

The next words flashed through my head before he said them.

"I'm gay."

I just kind of shrug it off and don't really say much, keeping with the work. He then asks me if I am. I politely tell him now and we just continue what needs to be done. I'm not alarmed or anything like that.

Really the only thing I took an issue with was that he then asked me if I were gay, would I find him attractive. This in and of itself isn't a bad comment at all, but he takes it a little over the line and asks me if I'd blow him if he asked.

Yeah. I stopped responding after that.

Over the next few weeks I talked with some of the other cashiers, and apparently Paul had asked this of several guys working there, particularly the new ones. This makes it sound like an initiation sort of thing, but from their descriptions, I'm pretty sure that wasn't the case.

Years later I realized that I probably could have sued the store and gotten some quick cash out of it, but ehh. I'm just not that big of a jerk. Usually.