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I’ve never been good at meeting people in bars. Some of you might find that surprising, because I am not a quiet or shy person. However, if you put me in a room with bouncing music, colored lights, liquor, and shirtless hunks, I find that it’s quite difficult to approach anyone and have any hope of them finding me remotely interesting without the ability to converse. I mention this as a preface to how I came to be in the company of Shane one Friday night.

I met him about three months before all of these auditions at what was the BEST club I had ever been in. The Connection in Nashville was at the time, the biggest gay club in the United States.* He was flat out gorgeous. He vaguely resembled a young Val Kilmer. You know how there always seems to be a guy in a crowd that everyone knows, and either admires or hates because he’s popular. That was Shane. He had his own entourage that would congregate around him. He’d make this easy because he would always stand in the same spot near the entrance to the dance floor.

I desperately wanted to be a part of this group. I was new in town, newly out, and I desperately needed some gay friends. I made it my mission to be his friend. It took several weeks of dancing near him and getting to the point where he would at least smile in my direction. If I noticed that he was heading toward the outside patio, I would make sure to move past him and get out there first, so I could at least hear his conversation, if not find the opportunity to talk to him. Ok, on reflection, it seems that I was sort of stalking him. Get over it.

Eventually, we became bar friends** and I looked forward to spending Saturday nights watching the best drag shows and dancing in a great club, and hanging out with Shane. I was working at the radio station and often scored tickets to concerts and other events. I invited Shane to one, I don’t remember which*** and we migrated into being actual friends.

I of course had a mad crush on Shane, but it was pretty clear early on that there was no chance of any relationship. I was just happy to have a great friend, and someone to take my mind off of Toby.

So it was a random Friday night and Shane and I had gone to dinner and decided to stop by the radio station to see my friend Scooter who was doing his weekly retro show on WRVW. On the way upstairs to the studio, I noticed my voice mail indicator on my desk was blinking.

I hit the speaker phone button and the following message came booming out into the spooky quiet of a normally busy office after hours:

Jeff: Hey Jester, Jeff here. Delious and I have made our final decisions on the project. Please meet us next Saturday morning at the studio. We knew immediately that we wanted you. You’re in. Congratulations! Call me if you have any questions.

Unfortunately, I don’t remember much else that happened immediately after I hung up the phone, mostly because Shane almost knocked me unconcious hugging me, jumping up and down and screaming at the top of his (our) lungs. We danced around the room and screamed some more, and jumped up and down again… then ran upstairs to tell Scooter.

* There is no coincidence that Nashville is also home to the Baptist National Headquarters, and also the most adult bookstores per capita of any other city in the US.
**Similar to the Sidewalk Sale from the Even Though post, the Bar Friend is as far as I know unique to the gay community, you can have meaningful conversations, talk to each other for years, even exchange gifts, but you never see them outside of the bar… sometimes you don’t even know their last names, yet you count them as a “close friend.” I guess all that dancing and sweating together must afford you some familiarty. Maybe this happens at the gym?
*** It really sucks getting old.