After a heavy night on the sauce with my local bowling team, during which we kicked off (or rather, kicked the shit out of) the first of four nights of our annual tour in Berwick-upon-Tweed, the last thing on my mind as I approached the hotel bar on the morning after the night before was alcohol.
Irn Bru, Irn Bru, Irn Bru ran in my head like a constant stream of diarrhoea. Or as we say in Scotland, for ease of spelling, “the shits”. However, whether it was a case of lost in translation or lost the plot, my heebie-jeebies mouth connived against my hallelujah brain to order a Smirnoff Ice. In my defence, I wanted something sweet and Harry Styles was double booked.
The barmaid, a cheerful thirty-something who was no stranger to a fish supper, replied without missing a beat: “Smirnoff Ice? That’s a poof’s drink.” Being one of the aforementioned lifters of shirts, I mumbled something in jest which sidestepped rather than challenged the homophobic remark, purchased said bottle and took consolation in wrapping my gums around it’s hard shaft.
I. Just. Wanted. A. F***ing. Drink. I told myself. Not a United Nations summit on the Proliferation of Offensive Figures of Speech (POOFS for short). But her throwaway remark and my dismissive reply stuck in my mind like knickers up the crack of your arse.
It was an innocent comment, some will say: throw away, off the cuff, harmless banter. No malice was meant and none was taken. That may be. But the reason it stuck in my mind is because it is a classic example of everyday homophobia which is so ingrained in our society that it passes for normal. Like “chinky”, “paki” and that old “nigger in the woodpile”.
So how should I have replied? A) “Well, being a Barbra Streisand fan, make it two.” B) “A bottle of Spunk IPA instead, snake hips” or C) A combination of the above, but with less sarcasm and more sincerity, along the lines of…
And that’s the point. When faced with such run-of-the-mill remarks we are often stunned into silence and it is only afterwards that we are able to rearrange our jumble of thoughts and emotions into a coherent sentence. But what is the point in doing so to me, myself and I “afterwards” if it doesn’t challenge the perpetrator in the “here and now”?
We should speak out ‒ if and when we can. If, because sometimes we may feel threatened or be outnumbered. When, because the time and the place may not be appropriate. Can, because it is our right to challenge their wrongdoing.
Now, this barmaid, I am sure, is no foaming at the mouth bigot. In fact, she was cheerful, polite and judging by her generous girth has extensive knowledge of the mind-altering liquids she purveys. And our exchange will leave no lasting impression on my monkey mind.
But I, like many others, will hear that phrase along with its bedfellow “That’s so gay” numerous times over the course of the bowling season and beyond as I work my way along the gantry of “poof’s drinks” which going by experience include wine, cocktails and anything by the half pint ‒ even a straight as f*ck Tennent’s Lager!
So we should have a few one-liners up our silk sleeves to challenge the chumps and right the wrongs. One-liners which are genuine, witty, to the point and as far away from holier-than-thou as possible. Think Rab C in the gutter with a bottle of Buckie. Answers on the back of a fag (sorry, cigarette) packet please!
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