Where they always know your name
Working in the West Loop means that I have numerous choices when it comes to lunchtime fare. Twice now, despite my complete lack of interest in chocolate, we have frequented this chocolate store around the corner. The first time we watched with interest as my co-worker, Bill, was courted by a member of the staff. The employee was a tall, lanky, vaguely dorky straight boy who talked about his failing band that he played with – or rather was apparently a roadie for, as it later fell out. To our surprise, the employee became intensely fascinated with Bill, telling him more about his life than was really appropriate, asking him personal questions, and, really, we were just there to buy some chocolate. As we left, we all commented on the strangeness of this experience, and how all of our gaydar had apparently been off and how keen that boy had been.
Today BH and I went into the same café and the girl behind the counter immediately said to me, “Oh get over here, I have to see your blue hair.” [I’ve dyed my hair blue.] So we all chat about how she wants to dye her hair too, etc., but (despite the total unbeepiness of the gaydar again) she’s clearly taken a shine to me. She asks if I’m an Aries and we discover that I’m born the day before her. At one point she asks me, “Do you ever find that as an Aries you have really good intuition because we have really deep thoughts?” Um, can’t say that I have. Eventually, her manic friendliness is just kind of unsettling and BH pays and we leave.
As with Bill, this girl didn’t want to seem to get in my pants so much as just totally overshare and bond with a member of the same sex, but in this really intimate-to-the-point-of-ignoring-the- other-people-with-the-customer way. So it appears not to be individual quirks, but rather company policy. I can just see the employee manual – “Make customers uncomfortable with your enthusiastic and ardent over-attention to things other than their chocolate purchase. This will make them seek chocolate as a way of combating stress and complete the transaction.”
Literally both employees acted like the selling of chocolate was the last thing on their minds – they just wanted to get to know the real us. It would have been potentially flattering if she’d been actually hitting on me with any type of finesse, but prostituting yourself for chocolate apparently not only turns you gay, but makes you really weird as well.
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