Queen

Today at work, I totally queened-out. Yes, you heard me correct, totally queensville, ya’ll. There I was zipping through the store of a quest for some obscure book, when my boss hails me from several aisles away and says with a big smile on her face, “Ken, there’s a dead bird on the sidewalk in front of the store, will you go clean it up, please ?”  Before I could formulate a more professional reply, out popped the very thing I was thinking in my most queeny/swishy voice, “Ewwwwwwwwwwwww , no way ! I’ll hurl, I just ate breakfast !”

Okay, normally this would be the end of the story, but at the exact instance the words left my mouth, the loud background music suddenly stopped playing from the overhead speakers and everybody in the front half of the store heard me including the men’s volleyball team from the college across the street. I saw them start snickering, roll their eyes in disgust and sneak glances my way. You could fairly hear them thinking: “What a fuckin’ fag ! Can you believe it this guy ?”  I wanted to die. Oh well.