Nerve.com - When The Rodeo Starts by Michael Joseph Gross
Nerve.com - When The Rodeo Starts by Michael Joseph Gross: "'Have you ever heard of The Abbey?' Dad asked, evidently unaware that he had named the flaming heart of gay nightlife in West Hollywood, a sprawling complex of cabanas, tables, bars and lounges whose glam-monastic décor features a fountain and a fire pit.
I managed to stifle questions and laughter and said, simply, that I'd love to have dinner with him at The Abbey. Then I spent the rest of the afternoon wondering what the hell was going on. Was Dad trying to show me how hip he could be? I pictured him scanning The Cheesecake Factory's lunchtime crowd for signs of obvious effeminacy: 'You're gay, right? Do you know where can I get some gay food for my gay son?' Or was this a set-up, some jaded queen's joke? Why else would a manager of The Abbey troll chain restaurants offering free dinners to straight senior citizens?
When we showed up at The Abbey that night, we got the kind of treatment usually reserved for the rich and pretty: the best table, free food, free drinks, a fawning waiter who looked like a Men's Health cover model. As it turned out, the manager, Alberto, was straight ('my wife . . . my kids . . . '), and apparently he was just being nice to my Dad, who loves nothing more than to strike up conversations with strangers. "
I managed to stifle questions and laughter and said, simply, that I'd love to have dinner with him at The Abbey. Then I spent the rest of the afternoon wondering what the hell was going on. Was Dad trying to show me how hip he could be? I pictured him scanning The Cheesecake Factory's lunchtime crowd for signs of obvious effeminacy: 'You're gay, right? Do you know where can I get some gay food for my gay son?' Or was this a set-up, some jaded queen's joke? Why else would a manager of The Abbey troll chain restaurants offering free dinners to straight senior citizens?
When we showed up at The Abbey that night, we got the kind of treatment usually reserved for the rich and pretty: the best table, free food, free drinks, a fawning waiter who looked like a Men's Health cover model. As it turned out, the manager, Alberto, was straight ('my wife . . . my kids . . . '), and apparently he was just being nice to my Dad, who loves nothing more than to strike up conversations with strangers. "
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