The Most Popular Dyke at School

Lindsay has a common lament: "I'll never be the most popular girl at school." When we go to the lesbian karaoke bar, she amends it to, "I'll never be the most popular dyke at school." It's meant to be funny, but it's also true. As much as we go to the bar, we're not in the thick of the social scene. Mainly, we sing our songs and people watch. Admittedly, we ostracize ourselves further by always sitting in the back corner of the bar because that's where the empty seats are.

We're not popular, but that's not to say that we don't have some fans, Lindsay in particular. Lindsay is cute, young, and talented, so the bar's older lesbian clientele is largely smitten. One of Lindsay's admirers is Bev, a white-haired lady with a lot of character who actually hit on Lindsay since the very first time she came to the bar.

Bev is not Bev's real name. It's Beth, but every time the karaoke jockey says it, it sounds like she's saying Bev, so we always assumed that that was her real name until one week on her birthday when we noticed that the cards were addressed to "Beth." By this point, we were so used to calling her Bev, we decided not to correct ourselves, continuing to refer to her as Bev, even occasionally to her face. Once, Bev dedicated a song to Lindsay, but called her "Leslie," which might be the funniest thing ever. We're still not sure whether Bev caught on to us calling her by the wrong name and played the joke right back on us, or if she had it wrong entirely, thus justifying our own actions. Either way: Bev + Leslie = Love 4eva

This past week, after Lindsay and I sang a duet, "A Whole New World," Bev approached us and told us that she almost cried during our song. Wha...? It's Aladdin, it's meant to be cheesy, not a tearjerker. We sit back down in our corner for a couple of minutes before Bev returns with some woman who's femme-y yet covered with tattoos and sounds like Debbie Harry when she sings. They asked us to come sit with them.

This probably doesn't sound like a big deal, but it is, in fact, huge. Imagine that you are the nerdy kid who sits alone in the school cafeteria and one day a couple of the most popular kids ask you to join them. That's what it felt like, and we didn't want to blow the opportunity. We followed them to what can best be described as the bar's "cool" table. We were introduced to and hobnobbed with the fellow lesbian elite. It was surreal.

Immediately, Bev bought us drinks. Let's be honest: I was just kind of there, they all wanted Lindsay's attention. But if I get treated to drinks, too, I'm completely content. At one point, Bev grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me out to the back parking lot for a surprise. I honestly had no idea what to expect. It turned out she wanted to offer me illegal drugs. Oh, crazy Bev.

I went inside, sang a song, and then was approached by a man who wanted me to participate in a different kind of illegal activity... he wanted me to buy some bootlegged DVDs. I felt bad for the guy because none of the bar's other patrons were considering his offer, even though he ran a fairly good hustle. I told him not to feel bad because the ladies here don't pay much attention to the men for anything and agreed to look at his selection out at his car. Kindly, Greg, who had joined us by this point, watched from the doorway to make sure I was okay. He just wanted to make sure that I actually knew what I was doing and making good decisions by following a strange (emphasis on strange, no less) man to his car, which I appreciate. Primarily out of sympathy, I agreed to buy a DVD, but then he said that he had forgotten the DVDs at home, at which point I found the whole "transaction" a bit dubious and ran inside to avoid him.

Greg had his own fans, however. After he serenaded the crowd with some Bob Marley, he gained a couple of admirers who told Lindsay that they'd buy us all shots if he'd sing some George Michael. He soon did an awesome rendition of "Careless Whisper," followed by a round of shots.

As the night came to a close, we bid farewell to our new lesbian friends. Someone asked for my phone number, and when I hesitated, they asked whether having Lindsay's phone number was as good as contacting me. I assured them that it was, mainly to avoid calls from people I hardly knew or, you know, purposely refer to by the wrong name. Mainly I was surprised to find that they had already obtained Lindsay's number. I give it another couple weeks, Lindsay, and you will be the most popular dyke at school.