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didn’t like the look on my face. “Come on, let’s go get food for Patsy and Edina.”
    Moments later we were in the pet food aisle loading up his cart with a thirty-pound bag of dog food for his two problematic pit bulls.
     
    ###
     
    I was almost at the hospital when my cell rang. Fortunately, my truck has hands-free so I could pick up the call by just hitting a button.
    “Hey Fetch, what’s going on?”
    “Hey Dog. I’m here with Tim.”
    “Hey Tim.”
    “Have you checked your email?” Tim asked.
    “No, I’m driving to work. What’s in my email?”
    “Chuckie sent out a blast to the entire team,” Fetch said, breathless.
    “He wants us all to email Bob and tell him to fire the cocktail waiter from last night,” Tim added.
    “He calls him ‘that flitty little waiter.’”
    “You’re not going to do that, are you?” I asked.
    “Um, well, no…”
    “It seems really mean,” Tim agreed.
    “We might tell Chuckie we did, though,” Fetch admitted.
    “Why would you do that? Just tell him no.”
    “Yeah, but four guys have already emailed to say they did it.”
    “Five,” Tim corrected.
    “That sucks,” I said, pulling into the hospital parking lot. “That really sucks.”
    “I know, man. Where’s a queeny guy like that going to get another job?” Fetch wondered.
    “If he’s not going to work in a gay bar—”
    “I’m sure there are lots of things he could do,” I said, defensively.
    “Oh, so maybe we should email Bob?”
    “And tell him to fire Lionel?”
    “No!” I practically shouted. “Lionel didn’t do anything wrong. Chuckie’s being an asshole.”
    “Wait, who’s Lionel?” Fetch asked.
    “The faggy waiter,” Tim said, exasperated.
    “Oh, that’s his name? Good to know.”
    Right away I was afraid that meant Fetch was going to call Bob. I mean, he didn’t need to remember Lionel’s name for any other reason. “Didn’t you say something like ‘Snap, he got you, Chuckie?’ when Lionel stuck up for himself?”
    “I already sent him an apology about that.”
    “We were all drinking,” agreed Tim. “You should never take what someone says in a bar too seriously.”
    “Chuckie understands.”
    “You shouldn’t have apologized,” I said. “Chuckie deserved what he got. He shouldn’t have called Lionel nelly. And a flamer. And whatever else he said.”
    “I mean, he is though, right?” Fetch asked.
    “You’d think he’d have a thicker skin. People must say things to him all the time.”
    “Why should they? Why is it anyone’s business?”
    “He kind of puts it out there.”
    “He’s very in your face.”
    “But Fetch, you’re a black guy. People must say stupid things to you all the time. Maybe you need a thicker skin.”
    “Fuck you, Dog.”
    “Yeah, Dog, I don’t know if that’s a fair analogy,” Tim agreed.
    I parked my truck but left it running. Turning it off would have killed the call. “Why isn’t it a fair analogy?”
    “I was born black.”
    “Yeah, he was born black.”
    “I don’t know how people get to be butch or femme. But I don’t remember making a decision to be the way I am. Do either of you?”
    I did remember being relieved that I wasn’t like the kids in high school who got called sissy and faggot all the time. I remember it felt good that I could play sports and pretend to be straight. Yeah, I didn’t fit in, but no one knew I didn’t fit in. It was safer to pretend. It’s always safer to pretend. Then I realized that if the thing with Lionel and Chuckie had happened two months before, I’d probably email Bob and tell him to fire Lionel just to make Chuckie happy.
    I didn’t like feeling that about myself, but it also made me remember why Fetch was being the way he was being. “Look, you guys do what you’ve got to do. Just think about it, okay?”
    “Yeah, sure.”
    “No hard feelings?”
    “Either way?”
    “It’s cool,” I assured them.
    Turning the truck off, I went into the hospital. Of course,