By Tianna Glass-Tripp
The big thing in the queer world is the “coming out” story. This is the story of how we “came out of the closet” or told the world that we are queer. It’s a big deal. When you start to date a new person, you trade stories. Meet a new group of friends? Let’s all retell our story. Going on a talk show? Story time.
Now, you may notice that I’m using the word, “queer”. And maybe you, like my uncle, are thinking, “Wait, are we allowed to say that now? I thought queer was a bad word. It’s just too hard to keep up!” You’re right – it is hard. That’s why we circled back and reclaimed “queer” from our childhood bullies and we’re taking the sting out of it. At this moment, I’m using “queer” as a general word to describe the LGBTQIA community because that acronym is a meaningful mouthful. So, just so we’re on the same page, “queer” as I’m using it here is cool. It’s still not cool to call a group of men in bright colored shirts “a bunch of queers,” and if you don’t know why, I’m sorry, but I haven’t allotted enough time to explain it to you.
Back to the coming out story. It says so much about who we are and how we got here. Some are happy stories of relief and acceptance. Some are sad stories of shame, anger and abandonment. Some are too sad to retell. But when you ask a queer person for their “coming out” story, they probably think back to one or a few instances that summarize them announcing to the world, “this is who I am.”
They are probably not thinking about yesterday at the grocery store.
What I mean is that when you’re queer, you are constantly coming out. The world is set up so that heterosexuality is the default. When I tell someone that I am married, people see a 30-something black woman and they assume I am married to a guy. How I respond really depends on the scenario that I’m in. If it’s a professional setting, I’ll politely correct them. “What does your husband do for a living?” “Actually, I have a wife, and she’s a singer!”
But the trickier scenario is the grocery store. I meet an elderly cashier and she’s asking if my husband is going to enjoy the new recipe that I’m trying. Do I come out to Gladys? Do I upset the cozy marriage ideal that she has in her head, or do I just let her think that I’m going home to try this vegan meatloaf recipe on my husband Marcus, the insurance broker and our golden retriever Brady. (The straight version of myself has really bought into The American Dream.) Will she still like me if she finds out? Or will she call me a “bulldagger” and tell me to get out of her line? Or worse; would she just silently scan my tempeh and end our friendship altogether?
Why do I even care about Gladys? I have so many family and friends who love me! I will leave this store and never see Gladys again. Or I’ll just avoid eye contact the next time I’m in this store so neither of us have to deal with the discomfort. Yes, that’s it. Oh wait. Now I’ve been silent way too long. Now I’m the weird lady who had an existential crisis over meatloaf in Gladys’s line. She’ll assume my marriage to Marcus is on the rocks because I’ve been so busy focused on my career and his cholesterol that I forced him into veganism and out of our relationship.
After mulling it over in my brain for far too long, the activist version of myself kicks in. She reminds me that I am a lesbian and proud of it! So here we go, I am coming out to Gladys the cashier. “Well, my wife is the one who found this recipe, so I hope she likes it!”
Nine times out of ten, Gladys raises her eyebrows in fake shock. “A wife?” she says, eyes still on my peppers as she scans, “I heard they was letting y’all do that now. That’s real nice. My niece is that way too, but she dresses like a boy. Is your wife the one that dresses like a boy?”
You can’t shock Gladys. She lived through two Michael Jacksons.
The world is so much different than it was when I came out 20 years ago. Nowadays, I can count on the fact that I’m not the first queer person most people have met. But old habits die hard. I’ve been having a mini-meltdown about coming out to new people for 20 years. It’s hard to turn off. Sure, it would be more comfortable *for me* if we just used gender-neutral language when asking casual questions of strangers, but I can’t expect people to just adjust a lifetime of small talk based off of one article…can I?
Tianna Glass Tripp is a comedic writer.
