An idea takes hold.

Monday morning. At Flying Star. Finally made it here. Ordered two blueberry pancakes and coffee. I must remember to come here at least as often as I go out drinking. I enjoy it way more, spend far less money, and have nothing like the same dreadful consequences to deal with the next day. Besides all of which it keeps me properly civilised.

So there's this advertisement at the back of the weekly "Alibi", which is sort of Albuquerque's equivalent to "LA Weekly" or Seattle's "The Stranger": "Alternative Lifestyles Bar" hiring, "AM/PM Shifts Avail., Serious Inquiries Only", and a phone number. It's been there from time to time. Most of the ads in their employment section strike me as specious -- you know, of the "make $10,000,000,000.00+/wk. licking envelopes at home in two hours a day of your spare time" variety. Besides which: "alternative lifestyles"? Didn't that idea fall definitively into disrepute at least as early as the '70s? What kind of pathetic loser would ever actually look for a job in the Alibi? Of course, I am curious. I've toyed with the idea of working at Foxes since about when I moved here. What a place to gather material for my novel. Live and work on Central. It's also where all the really good bartenders seem to start, a sort of "rite of passage"/"baptism by fire" kind of place before they get to work the AMC on Thursday nights. In an all-too-typically negative frame of mind I just assume it's either Exhale -- the (presumably strictly) lesbian bar out on Fourth St., or the twink bar neither I nor any other self-respecting homosexual of actual legal age can stand to set foot in. Finally on a hunch, while turning the idea of working at Foxes over in my mind, I look up the number in the Phone Book.

Whaddaya know. It's none other than Foxes itself.

Of course it's a freakshow place, everyone says. Can't be worse than Frontier at graveyard, which is the final clearinghouse for all of Albuquerque's various freakshows as the concerts let out and then all the bars all close, when you get waves and waves of people coming in, nonstop, for six hours at a time from progressively further east and west on Central, more than a few of them quite armed and many more than that just dangerous. Besides which, by now I actually have a pretty good sense who belongs in the bar and who doesn't: one bad experience is more than enough to teach for good the difference between a straight man who's just there because it's in his neighbourhood and he wants a cold beer with conversation and a straight man who's got "issues" with gays and is there to sell drugs to or otherwise harm us. Of course, depending who you ask, the clientele is "low class", "down and out", or just plain "desperate". Repeat my last comment about Frontier. Of course, the tips are bad. Tips at Frontier were downright nonexistent.

So I'm gonna call Charles in a little bit here. I call him around nine thirty and usually he's ready to start working by eleven or noon. I've been up since 5h30 AM. I've already watered my own plants, before the sun rose -- you know, when it actually makes sense to water. The gentlemanly hour I can handle -- but honestly, there are times it just makes sense not to wait 'til afternoon to start working in the garden -- like today, when it's gonna get up to a hundred. When it's over ninety you can get pretty wiped out in one hour flat. Love him, love the job, wouldn't have done anything differently, but I've just gotta make the rent this month and then make something else happen that I can count on for a steady paycheck.

As for Gertrude's, well, the pay ain't half of what I get for gardening. And I kind of get the impression I was hired because of Charles, because they didn't want to lose me as a prospective employee even though they didn't really need me then and there. Oh look, here's a guy who really knows antiques, who can get all the clocks actually running on time, whose heart is in it, who can maintain a freindship with Charles despite his being Charles, but who probably couldn't sell a bulletproof vest in Iraq if he tried. Well, maybe he does have potential, but it's nowhere near busy enough to justify having him around every day just to dust things. So while I do remain on payroll there I remain essentially "on call". When they get busy, I will hear from them. And not before. OK.

I think I'l go ahead and post this. Then call Charles. Then check some online classifieds to see what other jobs might be available. Or maybe not: the Foxes idea has hold of me now, quite firmly. I could call that number, but better still to just go by. Especially if Sid is there. I believe he makes all the hiring decisions, and we already get on quite well, at least in terms of server/customer. I think he knows my interest in the place goes far beyond its being "a convenient place to get sloshed" from our conversations regarding the history of the various bars and bartenders in Albuquerque and my observation that he should interview for the Pride archives. Hell -- if I work there, I have a double-legitimate "in" to interviewing all the best-loved bartenders in town as a whole independent project. It probably pays minimum wage -- but if I get enough hours, and update my best Starbucks acts for the tips, I can scrape by somehow.

Just called Charles. He's still asleep. Forget the classifieds. It's almost ten. Foxes opens at ten. I can go home, shave a bit, plug my computer in to charge, run a couple of errands, and probably be at Foxes before Charles even wakes up.

Later!