Coming Together: With Pride Read Online Free PDF

invite conversation about how long I've been growing it and if, indeed, it is natural.
    Once in a while, I can even get away with a subtle amount of eyeliner, like tonight. The woman is flirting so vigorously it makes me ill. She puts her hand on mine as she pays. She's staring up at me with an expectant look, as though I should offer her my number or tell her what time I get finished with work. I don't do either. I give her the change from her sale and tell her to have a nice evening.
    "If I bring my car up, will you be a dear and load this for me?" she says, way too sweetly.
    "I'd be happy to, ma'am," I say but don't mean. It's actually the last thing I want to do. Inevitably, when I bend over to put the case in her trunk she'll accidentally touch my ass. I wait on the next person while she pulls her vehicle up. I hand the guy his change just as the shiny, silver Hummer pulls up to the curb. Christ. These people make me sick. I carry the case out and, sure enough, her hand just happens to graze my bum as I put the wine in the back of her gas guzzling monstrosity.
    "You have a good weekend," I say as I curse her under my breath. I can feel her eyes boring into me as I walk away. That brings today's count up to three yuppie flirtings, two invitations to sorority parties, and one old dude checking out my package while he signed his credit card slip. My life is a living hell.
    I motion to my manager that I am going to walk to the back. I need a break from this drudgery. In the break room, I get myself some coffee and lament the long night ahead. From behind me comes a familiar whine, and I wish I hadn't come into the back room after all.
    "Hey, Ian, can I get you to grab something off the top shelf?" It's Janet. I turn slowly to face her scrawny frame. She dresses like she stole her entire wardrobe from an eleven-year-old boy two sizes smaller than she is, talks a mile a minute about stuff I could never care about even if I could understand her, and stands way too close to me while she's doing it. I am only a shade taller than her at six-one, but somehow she always needs me to grab something off the top shelf .
    "Sure," I say with no enthusiasm at all, "What do you need?"
    "The Waiters' Corkscrews. So the other night at the bar—"
    And she's off. Janet's already three days into her story by the time I reach the corkscrews and standing so close that I bump her in the head with the box as I bring it off the shelf. She melodramatically falls to the floor and her glasses skitter away. I set the box aside and watch Janet grope blindly. Her straight, boring, mouse-brown hair is in her face, and I have to stifle a chuckle at her sudden resemblance to Cousin Itt. She's nowhere near her glasses, so I lean over to pick them up when I feel an odd squeezing sensation on my crotch.
    "Hey!" I scream, jumping out of Janet's grip.
    "Ohmygosh! I'm so sorry, Ian. I can't see a thing without my glasses!" Yeah right. I hand Janet back her glasses and she's still apologizing. Her beet red face and shitty smirk undermine her attempt at sincerity.
    "It was an accident," I say dismissively as I hand her the corkscrews she needed so badly. She's still talking as I walk away from her. I'm furious and disgusted, but there's nothing I can do. No one saw anything and who would believe nerdy, naïve Janet would ever try something like that?
    I realize that I'm grinding my teeth, and I need to calm down. I head for the men's room in the vain hope that I can get a minute or two to compose myself. I wash my hands even though I didn't use the bathroom. I close my eyes and just feel the water spilling over my hands. If only I could wash the dirt of my life away so easily. I turn off the water and dry my hands. I don't want to stay in here too long or my hilarious fellow employees will be sure to remind me that "shaking it more than twice is playing with it."
    As I walk out of the restroom, I notice my manager approaching me, so I brace myself for some reference