I looked at him; “You got great hair. And your accent’s very attractive”
“That feels a bit creepy to me” he replied quickly.
I could tell he was nervous. “Look, this is the industry; it’s just the way it is. Men like foreign accents and someone attractive; what did you think when you came here?” “I know, I know; is just …”
The kid either wanted the job or not; “Look, I’m not your Mother. You know; you came to me.”
“It’s just, well, iz not like I am used to.”
I looked at the kid. “You got a Working Visa?”
“Yes”, his hand went to his pocket. He pulled out a maroon Visa stamped with gilt lettering, and placed it on the table between us. Then nervously leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, his eyes seeking an answer in mine.
I took it; quickly flipped open the second page, and scanned his details; “Ok Phillipe, how about you start off with a couple of shifts behind the bar. We’ll look at how you go, and by the end of the week, we’ll decide something?”
A relieved smile, shot across his face. He was a good looking kid alright; women and men alike were going to love him. But in a predominantly gay bar, he was going to have to get accustomed to attention from men, and learn to handle it.
“Do you have a white shirt?”, I asked.
“Yes, of course” he replied
“Ok, see you Tuesday; you start at seven. Come in the side entrance; I’ll tell Sam to show you where everything is”
“Thank you”, he sat back, eyes shiny and full of relief.