Newbie In The City
Being new to Nashville, I keep asking myself questions.
Will I make any decent friends?
Can this place work out for me?
When you ask yourself those things, one tends to pray for a sign. For me, that prayer took place on I-65 headed toward my new job downtown. As I prayed for my sign and for the local drivers not to run over me, I saw a glimmer of my salvation “The Bat Building."
Forget Wonder Woman and Superman, my childhood was spent wishing that I had the money, the looks and the gadgets to be Batman...or at least a Batman to come and rescue me from the evils of growing up gay.
So with a slight grin across my face, I entered downtown Nashvegas. My first day on the job wasn’t what I thought it was going to be. I thought I had a “dream job;” one where I could make a difference in the world or at least in a few lives. Instead, I find myself working for a sad southern substitute for The Devil Wears Prada's Meryl Streep character, Miranda Priestley.
My boss has five employees that respond to her beck and call. In the past five years, seven people have quit those positions. On my first day, a coworker spoke to me and tried to be hospitable. Miranda called her into her private office. Without closing the door or taking any precautions, Miranda began to belittle her saying, “It's not your subordinate to welcome nor explain things to. This is why you have never received a promotion nor a pay raise.”
How can anyone be this demanding or evil?
After my first day in hell, I went back to my hotel room, which I found out later was Nashville’s very own crack-town central and waited for…umm...lets just call him, Eduardo, a hot Hispanic guy I had talked to on the Internet for over a year, to show me around Nashville.
As I waited for Eduardo, the hours began to pass. Finally around 9:00 p.m., he knocked on my hotel room door apologizing that work had kept him from meeting me on time. Once in the trashy room, he opened up the apartment booklets to show me which ones to avoid. Half way through the apartment discussion, Eduardo told me that he needed to take a break and go to the bathroom. When he reentered the room, I noticed that Eduardo was completely naked.
After a second of admiring his chiseled body, I noticed that Eduardo had a bright red blister on his genitals. “Look bro,” I told him, “I need friends, not a one night stand, plus you have an STD.” To my surprise, Eduardo peered into my eyes and said with his thick accent, “That is where they messed up my circumcision. You silly American. You lack the fire, the passion to handle me.” Quickly, I responded, “What I lack is a lapse in moral judgment” and to that, Eduardo threw on this boxers, grabbed his clothes and walked out to his car in his underwear.
As I tripled locked the door, I couldn’t help but wonder if Nashville was becoming my personal Gotham City, a place full of lunatics preying on innocent guys. Hopefully, I can find me a Hall of Justice where I can find people with morals like Superman, Aquaman and Wonder Woman to hang with on a regular basis.
But something tells me I am about to embark on a venture unlike any other. So, if you are single and new to Nashville, just know that you are not alone, but beware of the chiseled man who will come into your room at night and run back to his car in his boxers.