DON’T ASK? DO TELL…

Where is the line between gossip and a good story? I’m a bartender, so I hear a lot of both, but even I’m not sure what the answer is. For example, I know and have often told the story of a prominent local politician who has a wife and family but secretly spends nights a couple blocks away from them in the house he shares with his gay lover. I like the story because it speaks both to the falseness of politicians and to the difficulty many people have being openly gay. I know the story is true. Am I being a gossip?.

—Over the Timbers

The Barkeep says: As a bartender, you may not gossip about patrons you know, ever. People in bars often do strange things, or divulge secrets, or loosen up just a little (or a lot) too much. As the bartender, it is not your place to discuss such behavior or repeat those stories. You should be the pillar of discretion if you want to maintain your patronage. Other patrons do not have to live by this code.

As a former bartender, I advise you to remain neutral, perhaps guide discussions, but don’t participate too much. The more you talk, the less your patrons will; if they know you have loose lips, they’ll drink their beers somewhere else.

The Gay Perspective: Typically, I would say that bartenders, hairdressers, automobile mechanics and the like should not repeat the things that customers confide in them. You raise a larger issue, however. What if a customer told you of his intention to commit a crime? What if the customer revealed information that was an issue of national security? What if the customer revealed that he was abusing his dog? Unless you are a bartender-priest, there are instances when one must break confidentiality for the sake of the public good.

You specified that this guy is a politician, not a hockey player or a cop. So tell me, where does this politician stand on gay issues? If this guy is right-wing and publicly opposes gay rights, personally, I’d out him in a heartbeat. If he’s a decent guy, doing the best he can, and simply has an unconventional domestic situation, I’d lay off.

THE WAY WE WERE

I went to a dinner party over the holidays with my boyfriend, who introduced me around to the other guests, most of whom I didn’t know. There was one guy, however, to whom I needed no introduction: He and I had crazy sex for about two days once, the lost weekend to end lost weekends. It was about 10 years ago and I still blush to think about it. Thing is, the guy didn’t remember me—or at least pretended not to at the dinner party. I didn’t remind him, but I was apprehensive all night, half worried he would suddenly remember, half wanting him to. And all of me worrying how my boyfriend would react if he knew about that weekend I spent with his friend. What would you have done?

—I Remember Drama

Crafty Office Girl says: Don’t fool yourself. He remembered you but it was easier to pretend he didn’t…unless it wasn’t the weekend for him that it was for you. Either way, cherish your memories and move along. What I would have done is hard to say because it wasn’t me. (Bummer for me.)

Dr. Sigmund Fraud says: Sometimes I wonder if I should not have devoted my younger days to being a such a sexual adventurer. The thought seems to cross my mind on a daily basis, in fact. How much simpler my life would be today if a walk to the store to pick up milk were not complicated by the watery stare I get from the young mother pushing her cart past me—screaming children at her feet. “Yes, I remember your eyes in the candlelight,” I feel like saying, “but baby, you got what you wanted, too.” Or maybe I’m just reading the Herald-Tribune at a small cafe by the Seine as the misty spring rain puts beautiful Paris into soft focus…when out of nowhere a middle-aged heiress begins beating me over the head with a fresh baguette. It is miraculous, wouldn’t you agree, how some brief flings from our past can provoke such intense emotions? It is also best to let those affairs remain encased in the bubble of the past.

That is why I paid you no special attention at that party over the holidays. And I thank you for granting me the same courtesy because I’m afraid your new boyfriend could rip my arms off, ma cherie.

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