A Night to Remember by Neil Hutchison

Saturday, April 2nd, 2011 at 11:04 am

A memorable Night By Neil Nutchison.

Whenever I meet someone for the first time, they start off with a clean slate. I don’t care about their race, religion or colour; I accept them with no questions asked. Whether they keep their slate clean is then determined solely by their actions and I apply the same rules to all. Secondly, being Australian I tend to speak my mind, joke or kid around and occasionally tease people with no malice intended. I don’t care if some people were born so serious they find this behaviour totally politically incorrect.

For example, an American friend and I got into a discussion one night about English spelling. I explained my theory that Americans have an aversion to the letter ‘u’, removing it from every word they can while mispronouncing it in words they can’t. ‘Neighbour’ becomes ‘neighbor’, ‘colour’ becomes ‘color’ and they pronounce the word ‘stupid’ as if it was spelled ‘stoopid’. Since that night, every time I send him an e-mail I first draft it in MS Word and then delete every ‘u’ in it. At the top I write: “This e-mail has been modified for American readers to reflect their 25-letter alphabet.” Don’t feel sorry for him because, trust me, he gives back as much as he gets
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So it came to pass that I was introduced to an expat and we became acquainted over a couple of beers. Although I had already guessed by his mannerisms, in Bill’s initial conversation he admitted he was gay. Feigning total ignorance, I answered that I was feeling pretty happy as well although not exactly ‘over the moon’. Unused to my sense of humour (with a ‘u’) he took the bait and explained that he meant he was homosexual. He said he is always up front about his sexual persuasion right from the beginning because he doesn’t want any misunderstandings or problems later. He was giving me the chance to politely leave his company if I had something against homosexuals.

I don’t, and I’ve enjoyed many conversations with him since. On one significant evening, two other friends and I joined Bill at a beer bar. As the beer went down far too easily, the conversation turned to homosexuality. Bill admitted he has always known he was gay, realizing it way back when he was a child. He then made the remark he believed homosexuality was genetic. “Hold the phone,” I replied. “How on earth can it be genetic?” Bill said he was born gay so it must have been in his genes.
That doesn’t make sense. If homosexuality was genetic it would go against evolution which broadly states that the genes of both parents join to make the genes of the offspring. By definition, purely homosexual couples cannot produce children. Because evolution is a very efficient and clever process designed for the advancement of a species, why would it deliberately develop a gene that could not naturally be passed on? Even with human intervention, a lesbian artificially inseminated by a gay man would have no guarantee of producing a homosexual child. And evolution does not rely upon human intervention – it does a pretty good job without our help.

As interesting as that discussion was, we moved on. Someone then jokingly said we should attempt to convert Bill to heterosexuality. I took up the gag by saying I had already purchased a 12-volt battery and knew someone with a set of jumper leads. Then someone suggested we take him out one night to a Go Go Bar and let the Pattaya girls weave their magic. To my surprise, Bill thought that was a great idea, but he had one condition. For every girly Go Go Bar we took him to, he would take us to a boy Go Go Bar. There was silence for a moment, then mother alcohol took control and we set a date for our night on the town.

We met at an agreed bar for a medicinal warm up before heading to a Go Go Bar three of us knew well. This bar is always a full-on party and offers no pretence of being artistic or cultural. Showgirls, nudity and fraternisation abound. Within seconds of ordering our drinks, the four of us had a girl on our laps. In Bill’s case, he appeared decidedly uncomfortable. After finishing our second drink, we checked bin and emerged into the night to follow the unconverted Bill to his favourite boy Go Go Bar.

I don’t think the word ‘apprehensive’ really covers it but the three of us were sweating considerably when we walked beneath the awning and through the curtains into the bar. Bill laughed as we quickly headed to a far, well-lit corner of the room and sat so close together we were almost on each other’s lap. What happened during the next thirty-two minutes and fifteen seconds is censored. Let’s just say I was visibly overwhelmed by a feeling of inadequacy. Then it was generally agreed (by a vote of three to one) we should move on, so we paid our bin. Just at that moment the building shook with the sound of a tremendous explosion coming from outside. To me it sounded like a car had crashed into the front of the building. Panic ensued as young men everywhere grappled to get their clothing on. The music stopped, the house lights came on, and customers and staff rushed to the front curtains to see what the commotion was all about.

It took some time but we eventually forced our way out the door to witness a scene of devastation. The cantilevered awning above the entrance had collapsed onto the pavement. Fortunately, a quick survey showed no bodies beneath the rubble; only a couple of the doormen nursing shock and grazed limbs. People from everywhere had massed around the debris which I remember thinking was not a good idea in case some more of the building decided to follow the awning to the pavement. That being the case, the four of us stood right under the illuminated doorway trying to decide the best method of escape. A local television news crew appeared on the scene and set up their video equipment. One of them became a little impatient and decided to take some still photos of the wreckage. I was looking directly at his camera when the flash went off. Then another flash … and another.

Some things in life I don’t understand. There was not a policeman in sight; there was not an ambulance man or paramedic in sight; yet a fully-equipped film crew was there within seconds. And one of them now had a nice set of prints showing the four of us standing like stunned mullet in the doorway of a boy Go Go Bar.

For the next week I scoured every newspaper to see if any photos appeared. I also checked local news channels and the Internet. There were reports, but the video footage and photos shown were taken after we had gone; coincidentally or conveniently, once the police and paramedics had arrived at the scene. I was not ashamed of being there as such, but it would take a lot of explaining should some of my mates see a photo of me outside a boy bar. Even though it was a night to remember, we came to a gentlemen’s agreement with Bill. We would stop trying to convert him, and he would never speak of the incident again.

Tagged with: neil hutchison