A story from last night:
I leave the office, hop on my bike, and head to the QFC on Broadway to buy a six-pack to drink with my sis before the Gong Show. I coast up to the rack out front. The only other bike on the rack is green, mountain, and nondescript. As I dig for my lock, another cyclist pedals past and hawks a huge loogie directly onto the saddle of the other bike. I look up, confused (and impressed at his aim), and think how shitty it’s gonna be for the bike’s owner to find it all slimy. The people in line at the ATM seem equally perplexed. Then someone approaches the bike rack from behind me, and judging from his subsequent reaction, he is the unlucky owner of the beloogied bike. Enraged, he begins hurling invectives in the direction of the hawker. “This is the problem with homosexuals on Broadway!! Fucking faggot!” I must note that he was not your run-of-the-mill epithet spouter—as someone who spends a fair amount of their waking hours on Capitol Hill, I know the usual blathering fools when I see them. He just looks like a generic older dude, seemingly not drunk, high, or mentally unstable. The empathy switch in my head quickly recalibrates, and I turn to the hater and say, with righteous anger, “Oh, you deserved that!” He doesn’t seem to hear me and removes the saddle from his bike, oblivious to my seething presence, and enters the QFC.
Shaking, I finish locking up my bike. Like most queers, I’m no stranger to direct or indirect verbal assault. But it doesn’t really get easier. A hot and fearful fury courses through your veins. Sometimes you ride the wave of adrenaline and fight; sometimes you repress and let the tsunami wreak havoc within. I enter the grocery in a daze. The man is 20 feet in front of me, kindly asking the Starbucks barista for a tissue to clean his seat. I walk past him and say, “Fuck you.” It sounds so loud in my head, but I don’t think it registers.
I wander the aisles for a bit, breath stuck in my lungs, escaping in small spurts, hands shaking. I can’t focus on my task—I swear the beer aisle is here somewhere. It’s hard to find the words to capture this feeling, but it’s basic hate-speech theory. See, I’m a big homo. I use words like fag and dyke and queer, regularly, often as a compliment. But in a particular context, in a particular tone and pitch, they mutate. Suddenly, these words become portkeys, transporting the object of their hate into a world of fear and shame, haunted by the ghosts of Matthew Shepard and Gwen Araujo and Brandon Teena. Or something. (See, it’s hard.)
As I stare at the glowing racks of beer, regaining my physical composure, the couldawouldashouldas engulf me and I imagine countless scenarios in which I could have told him off. The most powerful fantasy dominating my consciousness is slashing his tires… But I must move along, I’m late for my dinner date, so I select the most familiar brand and float toward the checkout. I pay, swoop up the six-pack, and head for the door.
Outside, I see that his bike is still next to mine on the rack—he is still inside. I fumble with my bike lock, perfectly nestled next to the vulnerable rubber of his tire. Moments later, as I’m stuffing the beer into my bag, he approaches. Yet again oblivious to me, he proceeds to reattach his saddle. I swing my bag over my head, clip my helmet, and straddle my bike, knowing I may need to flee quickly after I say the words that have been looping through my brain since seeing him last:
“If you have a problem with this neighborhood, you need to leave.”
“What?” he responds, obviously puzzled that I am even speaking to him. It feels like I’m screaming but I think my voice is choked with anger.
“If you have a problem with fags and dykes and queers, you should not be in this neighborhood.”
“You must have an inferiority complex,” he retorts. “Did you even see what he did to me?” He repeats this multiple times, volume escalating, as I try to respond.
“Yeah,” I shout over him, “I saw him spit on your bike and was confused and thought he was an asshole. Then I saw how you responded and realized who the asshole was.”
I then slip my foot into my toe clip, cross the street, and crank it up the hill.
There may or may not have been a gash in his tire as he rode away.
Photos of QFC and screaming face from machu picchu and ellenprather95, respectively.
Great story, I’m really glad you talked to him. I’ve had to explain to a couple homophobes on Capitol Hill that they’re in the 2nd gayest neighborhood in the country. Why would they choose to be here?
I heard a guy on Broadway last night yell at a couple women calling them “cunt bitches” for ignoring their advances. Unfortunately, there are no female-friendly neighborhoods in this country yet…
Everyone in this story needs to be sent to one of those conflict resolution classes where you learn better skills for dealing with this sort of thing.
Jesus, chill the fuck out.
While it is very unfortunate to know that there still exists a simmering underbelly of homophobia in this town (as lizzie references, a city with the 2nd largest gay residential population in the US), it is particularly interesting that his demonstration of said homophobia occurred in a fit of rage. While we all on the surface can seemingly coexist and live-and-let-live, there are obviously those like this guy whose true colors come out when instinctual buttons are pushed. This reminds me of the scene at the end of Do The Right Thing when Sal drops the n-word.
In an era where more and more Americans seem to support gay marriage, know more gay people and accept them free of misconceptions, it is sad to know that there those who still hold deeply rooted hatred and cannot get past it.
Ya’ll aren’t that different. He shouts epithets when he’s angry, and you slash tires.
Interesting. Never met a paranoid narcissist with low self-esteem before.
Is there a tendency for mobile spitting by homosexuals of which I am unaware? Or does the expectorate look different and can be indentified somehow? Did the back of the departing hawker have a big sign that said “Kiss me I’m a Faggot”? Seems more likely that you stepped into an ongoing feud, real or imagined, between an angry man and the generic target of his rage. He would be the troll under the bridge in any neighborhood.
Personally, I don’t begrudge the tire slashings. I would have been tempted to punch him in the face, and the fact that Jesse talked to him at least shows the man understands why people don’t like him. Besides, there’s a good chance that old homophobe’s tires weren’t slashed! At least, from my understanding of it.
Let’s try this same story a different way, okay.
A white man in a black neighborhood is suddenly angry because he is the subject of a random violation, and in his anger uses a racial epithet at his attacker. Suddenly he finds himself the subject of the anger of a bystander of the same race as his attacker.
Now lets try it this way:
A black woman in a white neighborhood is suddenly angry because she is the subject of a random violation, and in her anger uses a racial epithet at her attacker. Suddenly she is finds herself the subject of the anger of a bystander of the same race as her attacker.
You, sir, will have a long and successful career at The Stranger, because as a witness to a random act of violence and the ugliness of a sudden rage episode in it’s aftermath, you determined that the story is all about you. And that, in fact, you are the victim.
People say ugly things when they get angry. This fellow had a reasonable cause for a sudden fit of rage. That does not excuse the ugliness of his response. Nor does it suggest that it is wise to spew bigoted invectives.
But your response to the situation that you witnessed shows you to be the sort of asshole who is convinced of your own righteousness, and willing to do physical damage in response to a verbal response to a physical assault that did not involve you until you decided to be offended with the most righteous form of indignation.
You are a violent asshole, and you should seek professional help, now, for your out of control rage.
Whenever you are convinced of your own righteousness should be a warning sign for you, from now on.
You slashed his tire? The asshole in this story is YOU.
Child.
Oh come on, he didn’t really slash the other guy’s tire. What do you people think, Stranger writers go between work and the grocery with knives and razorblades?
While everyone in this story is an asshole, the writer in particular needs to count to ten and take a reality check. Epithets are threatening and hurtful, yes, even when they’re not directed towards you yourself (and it’s clear in this case the person delivering them was shaking his fists at clouds), but they’re not going to go away. Ever. Either you allow them to hurt you or you become a bigger person than that.
So, did you steal the alcohol from QFC like your news editor Erica Barnett likes to do and got caught for earlier this year?
Why not, eh?
Wow, you’re like V in V for Vendetta.
…
“If you have a problem with fags and dykes and queers, you should not be in this neighborhood”
And if you have a problem with stupid people who have next to no control over their emotions, you should not be on this planet.
Not to rain on your passive-aggressive emotional tsunami enduring self-righteous idiocy or anything.
I have zero issues with you getting upset over this and confronting this guy (as others above seem to….), but if you actually slashed his tires, that’s pretty stupid. On a whole host of levels.
You are not one iota better than the other guy.
Eye for an eye leaves everyone blind.
As much hate as slog dishes out to Catholics and Blacks and Fundies and half a dozen other targets of Righteous Liberal Bigotry it is rich that you get you ass in a twitch over name calling.
Words, just words. You give the other assholes words power. They are empty until you give them worth.
I’m as gay as the day is long, and probably twice as old as Jesse. I’ve dealt with my share of homophobic assholes. But the thing that would have stuck with me was the assertion on the part of the bike guy that the spitter was gay. For whatever reason, I think that’s hilarious.
Ah, to be young and ineffectual.
What #5 & #10 said.
@9: who knows if the spitter was gay in the first place? Whether said spitter was or not, being potentially gay had nothing to do with the act. The spittee (is that even a word?) perhaps could’ve called the spitter an asshole, mfucker, whatever, but equating the act to being gay? Am I going to drop an n-bomb on a black person who cuts me off in traffic? Of course not.
Jesse had every right to call out this person’s bigotry, rather than allowing it to go unanswered. Perhaps it’ll make this guy think about his actions.
Well done sir, well done. I go to that QFC everyday, and workout at the Gold’s above. I have seen a couple incidents there before, and I too have spoken up. The hill is our place, not theirs. While we are just as tolerant as the straights, the hill is and will be the gayborhood.
Maybe a sympathetic, “Dude? Did you really need to go there?” would have helped the angry victim of the wayward glob of phlegm focus on where he really was, not where he ported himself to.
Add a little compassion and the probability of there being 3 angry people in this story being reduced to just one (the spitter) grows substantially.
So much alienation hurts.
it doesn’t matter if the spitter was actually gay or not. the asshole couldn’t tell. he just went there. and deserved any possible tire slashing he may or may not have gotten. I would have popped him one with my lock. but i’m east coast.
the more people know they can’t just spout homophobic or racist or sexist shit and get away with it, the less of it you have to deal with.
“If you have a problem with fags and dykes and queers, you should not be in this neighborhood.”
That sounds like a threat.
“You must have an inferiority complex,” he retorts.
Wow.
This guy is good.
He had you pegged in 2.3 seconds.
Man, reading most these posts is depressing. I guess the cream of the crop isn’t on the ‘ol interhole Saturday afternoon/evening.
He hurt your feelings. You damaged his property. You’re wrong.
even the best of us have had a moment when we’ve used a generalization in anger–
“damn teenagers, always throwing their trash on the street”
“damn old people, always driving slow”
“damn homosexuals, always spitting on bike seats”
i don’t really get the guy’s connection between gays and spitting on bike seats, but i own a bike and understand that the dude was pissed. and i understand that sometimes, when you’re pissed because someone violates you in a totally random and hateful way, you react with less-than-amazing logic.
you should have said something like “what about his spit makes you think he’s gay?” or “dude, i didn’t know gay spit looked any different” or something pointing out his ridiculous connection, not get all pissed that he’s hating on the gays. you have to show them the way, from a bigger person standpoint, not get all passive aggressive and seethe over it. not worth it.
The Homophobe and the Loogie-hawker seem to have a previous relationship. The response of the Homophobe was stupid, homosexuals on Broadway are not responsible for his bad relationships or the spital of another person. Blaming all of them for the poor conduct of the Loogie-Hawker, whether he knows the guy or not, is dumb…but bigots are dumb.
Jesse Vernon, I’m glad you had the spine to speak up an confront the creep. I’m not so glad you may or may not have slashed the creep’s tires…but I’m not going to condemn you too harshly if did.
“If you don’t like fags, don’t come to Boystown.”
I’m straight and live on the hill.I have no tolerance for homophobia.The only problem I see is that you need to speak up.You apparently are speaking under your breath.Next time you need to make your point directly the first time.The tire slashing was juvenile (if it happened) but I don’t blame you for getting that angry.
You’re ALL the asshole(s) in this story. If you really slashed his tires, then you’re the biggest one. Confront him like an adult, not a child with your “you deserved it!” and “fuck you!”
DUUUUDE I FEEL LIKE EVRY1 ON DA STRANGER NEEDS TO BE ARRRMMMD. LIK IT WULD BE BAD 4 A COUPLE OF YRS CUZ MUDEDE WULD KEEP TRYING TO CONVINCE THE REST OF U TO OVERTHROW THE SHIRT FACTORY WITH HIM, AND MOST OF U WULD BE NOT KOOL ENUFF TO USE THEM, BUT AFTER A WHILEZ EVRY1 WULD KNOW THAT PEEPS WIT STRANGER MESSENGER BAGS PACK HEAT AND U’D GET THA RESPKET U WANT.
Let’s say our country was under attack. A real war in which everyone has to step up. You know, like how the country had to step in WW II.
And I’m thinking, this guy, Jesse, who wrote this post about how trembly he all got because of this stupid encounter . . . I’m thinking, Jesus, we’re fucked if this guy Jesse represents anywhere near .001 of the country’s populace.
I mean, he gets trembly about crap like this?
And there are riled up commenters writing like this guy Jesse made some big point.
Man, oh, man.
Actually, in Jesse’s case, mini-man.
Gay men are the ONLY men in Seattle who don’t spit on the street. There used to be signs everywhere – back at the turn of the 20th Century – saying, “No Spitting,” because it is an EXCELLENT way of transmitting disease – primarily tuberculosis.
Somewhere and somehow spitting became urban cool. Maybe its people wanting to emulate their sports heroes (lots of spitting in sports), but it’s still very disgusting. Of course, those who expectorate on the street don’t give a rat’s ass about public health or what I think is disgusting.
All I can say is this, a great-looking, perfectly groomed man in a $2400 Italian suit pulling up in a $90K car neutralizes whatever he’s trying to project the moment he spits on the street. And you see it all the fucking time.
i don’t spit on the street, 37. and i iz strate.
Wasn’t that a Sir Mix-A-Lot tune…?
On Martin Luther King the set looks kinda straight
We need a Castro Street so posse move ahead
We all look kinda stylish, the clothes you can’t forget
The mix cold duck, glazed beans and salad vinaigrette!
Chorus
Homosexuals on Broadway!
Interesting.
Of course, once the light rail station opens, the neighborhood will probably change.
Happens all the time.
Don’t you think it is possible that when he saw the wad spat onto the bike seat he was able to deduce that the spitter was gay?
jesse, there was a full moon last night. everybody was acting batshit crazy. let it go, and be an adult next time.
As told, the story gives no clue as to whether the defiling of the bicycle seat was accidental or intentional.
If intentional, what motive lay behind this 4th degree assault. A random act of unkindness? One scene in an ongoing interpersonal conflict? An episode of bike rage? Our correspondent gives us no clue, and offers no clue that he had a clue. What he had was one an immediate moral judgment, and then another, both informed by a strong sense of entitlement and a limited knowledge of the circumstance.
A recent NYT science item discusses the (generally illusory) “abiding feeling of moral superiority”, and relates study findings that suggest fundamentalists inhabit the high end of that scale.
I support your confrontation with the verbal homo basher and am glad you had the strength to do it. I don’t condone tire slashing, but I understand the feeling of wanting to do just that.
I think a lot of passive aggressive commenters here don’t quite get it, which is unfortunate.
@44, the “passive aggressive commenters” recognize that tire-slashing is about as passive-aggressive as you can get. Verbally confronting a homophobe may change his mind (and good for you for making the attempt, Jesse) but hit-and-run vandalism is a chickenshit power trip that only confirms all of his ugliest prejudices.
Jessie sounds like the kind of guy who would invade a country based on his gut instincts if he was President of the United States.
You sir are a whiney bitch. Your sense of riteous victimization is fucking astounding and kinda nausea inducing. You are my least favorite person of the day.
Plus people yelling random offensive shit on Broadway is a tradition.
If the correct response to objectionable speech is slashing tires, then I want to know where the Stranger writers park.
The easy part is judging the three characters in this story.
What should be easier to parse but most people are skipping past are the details of anger and anxiety internalization that Jesse explained in the bigger middle part of this piece. This is not “passive aggressiveness” but, for better or worse, humanity. Jesse detailed his Mr. Hyde morphing and mode. The faggot-scapegoater’s Mr. Hyde was the trigger.
The thing to get from this piece is that Mr. Hyde is the asshole, not just one person or another or all. It’s an extremely common story everywhere.
I thoroughly agree with you, Mr. Jesse Vernon.