Last night, I drove down to Philadelphia for a trip to the Bike Stop. I had one goal in mind. Last Saturday, when I was there with GI Joe, I had a 'we gotta get together' conversation with the guy who runs the coat check. (Coatcheck Sir was wearing a tshirt that proclaimed him to be 'Daddy.' Better believe that got my attention.) Alas, last week, he was too busy for any follow through. My mission last night: to get his phone number, or give him mine.
He saw me in line to check my coat and took out a pen.
While not cruising, or having my tits abused by a hot bear from South Jersey, I would hang out at the coat check, and chat with Coatcheck Sir when he wasn't... y'know... checking coats. This was rare, and our talks were brief. But, he mentioned that he was looking for an assistant on New Year's Eve, and asked if I'd be interested.
Is the Pope homophobic?
Sooooo... it's looking like I'll be spending New Year's Eve at the Bike Stop, being coatcheck boy. How cool is that? It involves numbers, and as I discovered during my misbegotten year as Treasurer of GMSMA, I'm dyslexic with numbers, but on the other hand, I've noticed that as opposed to the LURE, where every coat was a black leather motorcycle jacket, there seems to be a bit more diversity in cold weather attire at the Bike Stop. Normally, we'd frown upon that, but on New Year's Eve, that'll be a good thing.
Coatcheck Sir calle me today, and we're gonna talk again--and maybe hook up--tomorrow.
Hope something comes of this.