The freaks always seem to come to the surface right as we pull into Castro station.

About a week ago, I was going to meet G for our second date in the Castro. I boarded the underground, happy to have a seat and sat in peaceful silence, until the man with the big fat Bible showed up.

I had my back to him so I could only hear him begin his rant, which consisted mostly of the word "faggot" interspersed with some choice words about where they were going, you know the line. I kept turning around and shooting him dirty looks, pissed enough that I almost walked over to him to confront him. I opted not to, since I couldn't really see him and didn't know if that would be the wisest move.

So then, we get to Castro street, practically the nucleus of the gay capital of the world. He's still ranting, "faggot" the only detectable word in his vocabulary. He approaches me and I look at him and say, "Shut the fuck up." (Not quite the sophisticated verbal self-defense I teach my students, eh? Oops, Marnism.)

He retorts with a lovely, "You shut the fuck up, faggot lover," and PUSHES me.

So I say, "Look, you might want to think twice about touching me again, because number one, the faggots on this train greatly outnumber you and two, you really don't want to go there with me." (I'm such a bad ass.)

Meanwhile, all the boys on the train overhearing this are cracking up, probably having been as over him as I was.

So he walks away muttering under his breathe and I walk away muttering under my breathe and that was that.

UNTIL...

I was coming home on MUNI on Wednesday and I see him again. I thought to myself, "Great, this guy again," and kept walking to my seat.

And here, my friends, is the best part. He takes one look at me, shakes his head and says quite loudly, "Not YOU again!"

Hee Hee.

P.S. (He was right about one thing...I *totally* love fags ;)

July 6, 2001