Date #23: Pappas Fritas

I work at a library.

This is considered a respectable job.

Why is it respectable? Because it involves books and scanning things into a computer. Ergo, I'm a genius with technological skills.

In reality, a trained lemur could do my job, and probably do it quicker at times.

The pay is all right, the pressure is virtually non-existent, and no buying/selling aspect exists at all. Nevertheless, my job is a job you can proudly lay claim to.

This was not the case for my most recent date--Derek.

Derek works at a fast food place.

Now, I'm not aware what the policy is of being sued, or not being sued when it comes to blogs and whatnot, so let's just say this fast food place is the fast food place you think of when someone says "fast food place."

Yup, that one.

That's not where I met him (I gave up fast food after seeing Super Size Me) but he did bring it up pretty early on in the date. We were having dinner at Fire and Ice (not my favorite place, but I've surrendered to the fact that the gays love it) and we got on the subject of jobs.

DEREK: Most people can't believe it when I tell them I love mine.
ME: Oh really? What do you do?

Then he told me. I must have made some kind of face, although I don't know why. I don't particularly care what someone does as long as it doesn't involve a corner and women's underwear.

DEREK: It's okay. Most people give me that look. I mean, I am 24.
ME: No, it's cool. I don't know why I made a face like it matters. It really doesn't really matter.

Or does it?

I consulted with Bri-Bri the next day at Cafe Nordstrom.

BRIAN: No way would I date him.
ME: Brian, you date a stripper.
BRIAN: Yeah, but that job is associated with the idea of being hot. Working at is associated with asking people if they've tried the new healthy salad that'll still get you fat.
ME: You're right. I'd respect him so much more if people shoved one dollar bills in his briefs.
BRIAN: Hey! Boxer briefs!
ME: How are things going with him since you ignored him at the club?
BRIAN: They're fine. I explained that I'm completely over Michael.
ME: And are you?
BRIAN: Um, we're going to dinner tonight.
ME: WHAT?
BRIAN: I'm sorry, but he's completely over me.
ME: So?
BRIAN: So that negated me being over him.
ME: You're insane.
BRIAN: I'm a gay man. Wanting all our exes to regret they broke up with us is built into our system.
ME: He isn't technically your ex.
BRIAN: You see that? I don't even have closure.

Why do gay men care about such petty things?

I decided that Derek was not going to get thrown into the "Out" pile simply because he worked at what some might consider a lower-class job. After all, a good worker is something to be admired, and he doesn't just work at . He happens to be a manager. So there.

I popped in to see him at work that night just to say hi and to show that I really didn't care about where it is he works.

The place was packed. I guess America really is addicted to grease and straw-stretching vanilla shakes. At the head of the line was a little Latino boy pointing at something. Derek was trying to understand what the boy was saying.

DEREK: Papas fritas? Um...papas fritas?
LATINO BOY (MAYBE NAMED DIEGO): No.
DEREK: Um...what would you like?
MY DIEGO: No.
DEREK: What?
MY DIEGO: No.
DEREK: Papas fritas?

When Derek saw me, instead of looking jubilant that someone had come to brighten his day, he looked like I was about to drop a dead cat on the counter.

DEREK: Hey Kev.
ME: Thought I'd come say hi, but since you're busy--
DEREK: It's okay. We're always busy.

He handed the cash register off to someone else, and took his break with me. We went outside and hung out in my car. He snatched me some free fritas before he left, so we were munching on those--breaking my non-super sized diet. (Hey, I'm allowed a free snack once and again, it's not like I'm supporting the McBastards--oops, too much of a clue.)

Derek mentioned how a few people called in sick to work today, and how turn-over is really bad at his store. He said he hopes to get transferred to another store sometime next year. It was then I asked him how long he thought he was going to stay with RFFP.

DEREK: For as long as they'll let me.
ME: You mean, you don't want to work somewhere else eventually?
DEREK: Why would I want to do that? I make good money, and my job's not that bad.
ME: I just never thought of a place like that being a permanent kind of thing.
DEREK: Why? Because it's fast food?
ME: No, it's just that you're really smart--
DEREK: Really smart people can work with fast food.
ME: I know. I'm not trying to insult you.
DEREK: Great job so far.

He got out of the car and slammed the door. I took a breath and then followed after him. I told him I didn't mean to upset him, and that I'm not as big of a snob as I sound. He stopped walking away from me and turned around. He looked a little embarrassed.

DEREK: It's just--you ever have someone ask you the same thing over and over again, and you're like--God, just let me do what I want?

Can you make good money doing theater?
Are there a lot of jobs in theater?
How many starving actors are there in the world?

ME: Yeah, I think I can relate.
DEREK: I just want to keep doing what I'm doing, and when I'm ready to stop, I'll stop.
ME: I understand. Hey look, I know I've been a jerk about this whole thing, but I really would like to see you again.

He smiled, and we agreed to set up a time. Unfortunately his schedule allows him three free minutes a week. Apparently fast food workers and parallegals have really heinous job schedules. Derek says it only gets worse depending on how far up you go, but the money gets better--mostly because you're working so much. Plans for a second date went on hold.

ME: Would you ever not date someone because of where they worked?
FRIEND: The only occupations I won't date are morning dj's and Republican lobbyists.
ME: Sometimes I worry that I'm too particular about certain things.
FRIEND: There's no point dating someone if they're not a good match.
ME: Yeah, but maybe gay men in general need to be a little less picky.
FRIEND: Sweetie, all I ask is that they don't have a vagina. How much broader do you want the search to be?
ME: I just think we attach values to people based on what they do and how they appear.
FRIEND: Well of course we do! How else are we supposed to look down our noses at people?
ME: Why can't we all just like people for who they are?
FRIEND: Because you job, and how you look, and where you live all has an effect on who you are.
ME: What about those trashy people who win the lottery and move into mansions?
FRIEND: I'll thank you to leave my cousins out of this.

I asked Connor if he'd still like me if I worked at RRFP. He told me he didn't care. I reminded him that his ritzy mother might.

CONNOR: My mother used to be a waitress at a roller disco slash diner before she married my dad. Believe me, she'd have no room to talk.

With that, I'm going back to checking in books.