Some time ago, I periodically went to the branch of my bank near my place of employment to deposit paychecks, and there was this skinny, elegant brunette kid who was always at the window, and I was usually distracted, while there, by the amazing gayness emanating off of him. Every time I went in, I thought, "Wow, that kid's really gay."
Then one time, maybe the last time I was in, a fascinating little story began to unfold, and it went something like this:
This very straight-looking, almost jockish blond guy is behind the counter. I look for the skinny gay boy. Surely he must be there. Yes, indeed he is. But he's at the window as usual. I guess I may never have the opportunity to talk to him and get a more personal analysis. So I settle for the straight boy to the left who seems eager to be of assistance.
As I hand over my deposit slip and grab a pen to sign my check, he takes the paperwork from me with an enthusiastic expression. I think, "Hm. Perky for a non-gay." And I shrug and go about signing. Then the blond non-gay asks, in a remarkably yet questionably not-so-straight-as-I-thought voice, some question I now forget, probably how I'd like the cash or something along those lines. And I think, for just a moment, I see a flirtatious glint in his eye, with a sort of coy smile.
I tell myself I probably just have my dar's sensitivity set too high and go back to looking at the skinny gay boy, while blond non-gay processes my deposit, to see if there are any more tell-tale signs. No, of course not. It couldn't get any more tell-tale. He's a flaming homosexual for sure, whether or not he knows it. He probably knows it. How could he not?
Back to the straight boy at the counter. We're getting close to wrapping up now. As he hands me the bills, I could swear he brushes my hand just a touch more than your average, everyday female-loving bank employee would. And as he counts them out, his eyes are just a touch playful, maybe even flirty. Is this boy toying with me? Does he presume me to be gay and is flirting with me just to have fun with the gay client? Or is he maybe one of those "straight" guys that go cruising in the park for anything but girls in the middle of the night? What's going on here? Is this some secret, underground gay branch of my bank? Should I speak some code word to be ushered into a "vault" full of shirtless young guys dancing to Kylie Minogue?
We finish our little exchange, or exchanges, and I go about my way laughing to myself at the queer little display that has just ensued. I then laugh at myself as I shrug it off and tell myself I'm just trying to make the whole world gay, this poor blond chap my newest victim of mental pygmalion.
Well, months pass. The seasons change. And one day, a local moho friend tells me there's a new moho he's been hanging out with who apparently knows who I am. I ask how. He says he worked at my bank and worked out at my gym. After some probing questions and a description of the blond bank boy encounter, it would seem the blond bank boy is most likely the new moho on the scene. My sneaking suspicion from months earlier is confirmed after all this time. Oh, I enjoy these moments.