My Taxes Pay Your Salary, And I Can Get Your Fired!

My boyfriend and I were parting ways in front of Einstein Bagels this morning. As many couples, both hetero and homo do, we gave each other a peck on the lips along with our goodbyes. Innocent enough, right? Not hurting anyone, right? Not bothering anyone, right? WRONG! WRONG WRONG WRONG! DEAD WRONG!

That’s according to some city workers who were driving a truck past us. The trio in the bright orange-colored asphalt hauler decided to whoop, holler and howl, saying “Oh no! Oh no!” and putting their hands to their mouths and eyes in obvious disgust.

I just turned to them, my aviators masking my eyes, which exuded a mixture of shock, confusion and sadness. I should have looked for a department sticker or a vehicle number to report them. I don’t mind someone expressing their thoughts, no matter how ignorant, but my paycheck pays these jackasses to do their half-assed job of pretending to fill potholes. And frankly I’d rather fund more open-minded and tolerant bloated blue-collar workers to do a half-ass job pretending to fill potholes.

Listen. As much as I like to think I’m impenetrable to intolerance, as much as I like to think I have a thick skin and that we live in an age where homophobia and hatred is becoming a relic, these incidents hurt. They serve as a reminder that something I consider to be routine, healthy and an expression of love (LOVE GOD DAMN IT!) can be construed by others to be something silly, disgusting or sinful.

Listen assholes in the truck and listen hard. I am not here for your amusement. I’m not kissing my boyfriend so you can get a rise or a chubby or whatever it is you get from seeing two men who care and love for each other kiss. I’m not your quarter slot peepshow whore or your faggity minstrel show. I’m not some nameless punk ass on a street corner who you can chide from the safety of your moving vehicle. I’m a human being, and although I’m not perfect, I believe in treating people with respect and kindness and love. How about you pull your heads out of your asses and look at your fucking reflections. Maybe after you wipe the shit from your eyes, you’ll realize the source of your own misery and decide to stop projecting your pain onto others in the form of senseless ridicule.

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One response to “My Taxes Pay Your Salary, And I Can Get Your Fired!

  1. justaddwonder

    Dude. Back-to-back comments. Promise I’m not stalking, but I just wanted to say sorry about your morning. And . . . although Chicago has its shit together way better than where I live, some days poo gets flung in even the more enlightened places. Sorry you were in its path. For the tax rate you endure there (I was floored, but hey, your city parks rock). . . you should definitely consider a formal complaint. God, people can suck.

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