A Somewhat Awkward Situation
Circa 1975, I’m behind the bar at Drake’s Drum on 2nd Avenue between 84th and 85th street, New York Fuckin’ City. It’s mid-week, around 2 o’clock in the am. A transvestite walks in. He’s huge. Around six-foot-three or four. And he’s all muscle. Rippling with ’em, he is. He minces to the bar and asks, with pronounced lisp, “Where’s the little girl’s room, please?”
“Down there on the right,” I tell him, and he makes his way toward the bathrooms.
“Gary! That was a man!” one of my regular tells me.
“You go tell him he’s a man,” I say. “He might get upset.