ME: I hate gay people.
This speech was bound to get me in trouble.
I was standing before the RI-TRI board in our office downtown after a disastrous summer, both personally and professionally.
Not only was my best friend in New York for its duration, but every event that RI-TRI sponsored went over about as well as full disclosure on a first date.
ME: We need to dismantle this organization.
Uproar, of course. Leave it to the administrative gays to get melodramatic. Most of them are just pretending they're Faye Dunaway in Mommie Dearest circa the Pepsi boardroom scene.
This was why I wanted a gavel. Sometimes you need to bang something to get people to pay attention to you. That also happens to be a personal philosophy.
JARED: Davis, I think it's a little premature to talk about--
ME: You would know about premature, wouldn't you, Jared?
More uproar. We were going to be there all night.
ME: Listen, everybody. I know you've all seen Milk, and you're filled with gay spirit, but hear me out. This organization is built on and for the gay community in Rhode Island. Well, news flash, there is no community. There's no community. There's no friendship. There's no interpersonal communicative bullshit of any kind. All we have are a bunch of catty bitches who sleep with each other and then gossip behind each other's backs. And you want to organize these people? You want them to have some sort of say? They haven't earned it.
This time I thought one of the little queers was going to hop up onto the boardroom table and go after me.
It wouldn't be the first time.
JARED: You're our leader. You're the King. You're supposed to be the head of this organization.
ME: Is this when I say 'pass?'
JARED: You're supposed to be heading up the revolution.
Did he just say "revolution?"
ME: Revolution? You want a revolution?
JARED: Yes.
ME: A revolution from what? From sleeping around? From spreading rumors? From drinking too much and throwing up in the street? You want a revolution from all that?
JARED: No.
ME: Well, that's what you should want. You should want to better yourselves.
Cue Little Shop of Horrors music.
ME: Yes, better yourselves. Learn to speak properly. Stop spending every night at Prisms. Read a book. Watch CNN. Be involved in the world community and maybe then you'll earn the right to have one of your own. Stop acting like little girls--only caring about how cute boys are and what the newest Beyonce single is. Dress like you want to get hired for a job, not get laid in a back alley. Ease off the coke. Knock off the crying when your lover leaves you for a twink, and instead say--'Good riddance.' While we're on the subject, stop dating little boys--that's called pedophilia. Stop spending money on shirts from Banana and Gap, and start spending them on diction coaches and subscriptions to The New York Times. Don't make out with people in public. I don't care if straight people do it; it's tacky when they do it, too. Get real jobs. Get better values. Get with it. Then you can get yourselves a revolution. Not before.
I started packing up my things.
JARED: Big speech coming from someone who embodies everything he just ridiculed.
ME: People change.
JARED: Have you?
ME: I don't need to. I'm not the one asking for a miracle.
JARED: Oh, isn't that--
ME: RI-TRI is now dismantled. It's dead. We can no longer afford the rent for this office and all your terms are up by the end of the month, which means you can either keep pounding away at this corpse looking for a heartbeat, or you can exit gr
acefully and come back when the gay men and women of this state are ready for you. It's up to you, boys. I'm out.
I walked to the office door to make my grand exit.
When--
JACKSON: Is this the RI-TRI meeting?
ME: Jackson, what are you doing here?
JACKSON: I was hoping to join the board.
ME: The board is defunct.
JARED: No, we're not! We're totally funct.
ME: I changed my mind. They're funct all right.
Jackson went to my seat and sat down.
JACKSON: I actually ran the San Diego LGBT.
JARED: You ran it?
ME: Into the ground?
JACKSON: Very funny. The SDLGBT was one of the most successful in the country under my leadership.
ME: You're going to have to go a little slower, Jackson. Most of the boys are probably still trying to figure out what SDLGBT stands for.
JARED: Jackson, we've actually just lost a President. Would you be--
ME: You haven't lost a President! You've lost your organization.
JARED: Not if Jackson can turn us around.
JACKSON: I could give it a shot.
ME: Jackson, I hate to do a speech twice, but--
JACKSON: No need. I heard it outside.
ME: And?
Jackson stood and faced me.
JACKSON: Mine's a little shorter. Give me your poor, your tired, your shirtless, your cokewhores, your tacky bitches, your gossip queens, your barflies, your clubrats, your shallow, and your catty. Give 'em all to me, Davis. I'll take 'em. And I'll make them into something bigger and better than you could have ever imagined.
A cheer erupted in the room. I thought they were going to put Jackson on their shoulders and carry him out like a big gay Rudy...or just like Rudy.
ME: What would that bigger better thing be? An American Eagle franchise?
JACKSON: Just you wait, Davis. Just you wait.
He turned and faced the room.
JACKSON: Should we make the rest of this meeting closed?
JARED: I second that.
JACKSON: See you later, Davis.
I should have been glad to leave, but I wasn't. I swore they'd regret this.
Nobody throws John Davis out of a boardroom.
And this wasn't my first time at the rodeo.
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