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Alright, let's talk drag queens and my many encounters with them.
I'm honestly surprised at how many times it has happened over the years, so I'll focus on just 3.
THREAD
I'm honestly surprised at how many times it has happened over the years, so I'll focus on just 3.
THREAD
A quick note, I'm going to use she/her pronouns for these people unless they're not in makeup, which is one of them. I'm honestly kind of unsure if this is right, so feel free to correct me. My understanding of how this works is limited to like 3 episodes of Drag Race.
Anyway, let's start with Veronica, whose account displayed a man's name. She texted me ahead of time to ask me to pull into the driveway and close to the door. I sent a quick message back asking if she had something she needed carrying.
"No... I'm in drag. Is that okay?"
"No... I'm in drag. Is that okay?"
Turns out this was her first time performing, and she was extremely nervous about being seen by her neighbors stepping out of the house. I pulled in, unlocked the doors, and Veronica basically sprinted into the backseat. Pretty impressive considering the heels.
She explained all this as she buckled up, seeming equal parts nervous and scared. I told her she'd done a good job on her eye makeup, a compliment that I meant, but also one that seems to make queens really happy every time I use it. She smiled and asked if I really didn't care.
I told her no, that I'd seen everything, and she was just going out to have fun. It didn't matter to me one way or the other. She was just a person who needed a ride. That part, "just a person," must have meant a lot to her, because she reached in her bag and grabbed a tissue.
She dabbed at her eyes and thanked me. We drove to the club without much else. She was performing to "Born This Way," which I thought was fitting for a first performance.
"I thought about doing Cher, but it felt cliche."
I dropped her off and told her to break a leg.
"I thought about doing Cher, but it felt cliche."
I dropped her off and told her to break a leg.
Next up was Paul, a bald fellow who walked to the car in a sparkling purple gown with a bag on one arm and a bottle of vodka in his fist. From the moment he got in, I knew that Paul did not give a single fuck about my opinion. He was fierce, and he didn't care what I thought.
He was half-drunk already and took a big swig before we set off. I asked him to keep it closed (open container laws and all), and he stuffed the bottle into his bag. There's only one gay bar in town, so when I saw the destination, I knew what was up.
I asked if he was performing that night, and he said no. He hadn't even bothered doing his makeup yet. He reached in the bag and pulled out one of those styrofoam heads with a wig on it. "This is the whole package... Well, I mean, I'm the whole package, but this is the hair."
I told him that he must look fierce when he's all put together. He seemed amused by my compliment.
"I don't really care what people think," he said. "If they've got a problem, I've got these." He held up a shoe with a heel so high he must have been 7 feet tall with them on.
"I don't really care what people think," he said. "If they've got a problem, I've got these." He held up a shoe with a heel so high he must have been 7 feet tall with them on.
I literally cannot imagine the person who would start a fight with Paul. Who in their right mind would try to start something with a 7-foot tall sequined giant?
People do though, and that's stupid. Leave Paul alone. It's clearly what he wants.
People do though, and that's stupid. Leave Paul alone. It's clearly what he wants.
If you're following along, I've saved the most memorable queens for last. Yes, queens. Plural.
It was Pride week, and I pulled up outside of a student apartment complex to meet Lisa. Lisa was dressed in normal clothes. She was the scout.
It was Pride week, and I pulled up outside of a student apartment complex to meet Lisa. Lisa was dressed in normal clothes. She was the scout.
When I say scout, I mean she was sent out to get in the car and check if it was okay and safe for her friends to come out. She told me they were in drag and were headed to a gay bar. I could name the bar without even looking at the app, and that reassured her that I was safe.
She called her friends quickly and told them I was cool, which made the whole thing seem very cloak and dagger to me. I don't know what I was expecting at this point, but what came rolling out of the apartment was beyond my wildest expectations.
A trio of latin queens, dressed in sparkling gold Carnivale costumes came rolling out of the apartment. They had to fight with their own feathers to fit in the backseat, and I firmly believe they had not stopped talking for the past five hours.
They had thick Miami accents and seemed delighted by my Kesha CD. My car had transformed from quiet to a Miami nightclub in the space of three queens. Lisa shrugged, and told me they were a handful.
The ride itself was filled with singing and dancing and gossiping. The trio were scandalized at something happening to a friend, and Lisa frequently flipped around to talk to them.
Dropping them off was unusual, because the parking lot of the bar was full of cars in a line. The trio rolled the windows down and stood up, waving at people out the windows like a parade float.
When we got to the front, the trio hopped out, and Lisa thanked me while apologizing for their behavior. I told her not to worry, that I'd found it amusing. She seemed extra relieved.
What a strange world we live in, that people must send their friends to scout if the taxi driver is safe because of the clothes they are wearing. A world with people who have to adopt a fighting posture in a sequined gown because others won't leave them alone.
I hope all of those people had wonderful nights. I hope their drivers to get home were as accepting as I was. They are human beings, and they deserve nothing less.
