Out here there is a tradition of something called Tea. This has nothing to do with the far right wing nuts trying to split the Republican party, but is rather a collection of gay men travelling in packs to and from different establishments out here depending on the time of day. When everything is up and running here's how it goes: Low Tea starts at approximately 6pm and is held at the Pines' only real sit down style restaurant, the Blue Whale. The whale won't look like much of a restaurant though because all the tables have been removed to create a dance floor and upwards of a thousand homos are buying up booze and shaking groove things all around. Also, just for your own frame of reference, this is where I'll be working for the summer once it's up and running. Currently it's missing a floor, has the semblance of a ceiling and a half built cocktail bar... she's in need of a little love, but getting there.
So, back to hypothetical Tea. We began at the Blue Whale, drinking it up where there is sure to be a floor soon enough, but lo and behold it has crept its way to 7:55pm. Well, as any self-respecting homosexual will tell you (although the more time I spend out here I think there are very few of those around) 8pm is the end of Low Tea as we know it, and no one wants to be the last lady at the bar. So, en masse, about 900 dudes trickle they're way to one of two destinations. They're both about 100 yards away from the Whale and starts at a dance hall called The Pavilion, which currently serves as dry storage for the marketplace as well as a home for excess gym equipment (because what's a homosexual without gym equipment?). In here we discover an enormous dance floor with crazy lights and great drinks. It isn't exactly a full-fledged dance club just yet, it's just a taste of what's to come. This is what's called Middle Tea (get it? Low Tea? Middle Tea? K, good.) and is a diving board for those who wish to get a little bump-n-grind on before heading up to the last stop, High Tea.
High Tea is a beautiful room with full length hardwood floors, and hardwood dj both, and two wall length hardwood bars. How many times can one homo write hardwood... Anyhow, an awesome feature of this space is the wall made entirely of garage doors. It's the second floor of a building that overlooks the harbor as you come into The Pines, and weather permitting, this wall of garage doors are open allowing for the summer air to come in, and the dj's rockin' tunes to entertain all the homes below. As I said before, this is currently the only part of Tea open for business from Friday to Sunday, but project manager man (a straightee) has convinced us that the Whale will be open for Low Tea on Friday.
Now that you've got a grasp of Tea out here, let's talk specifics. This weekend I had the pleasure of going to High Tea the three days it was open (Friday, Saturday, Sunday). On Friday, when the weather was stunning, I basically just stood near the bartender that I made out with the night before... (we'll get there, we'll get there) and enjoyed a few stiff drinks while dancing with my new favorite person on the island. She's a free spirit, born and raised in Ireland, and business partners with the marketing director out here. We'll call her Carbomb. That's referring to my favorite style of shot, not the bootsy attempt to blow up Times Square last week. Anyhow, Carbomb and I are dancing our faces off and getting shitfaced on Whiskey(her) and Gin(me) and flirting with our bartender counterparts. She's actually in luck this summer because three of the bartenders at this point are... dare I say it... Straight! Her poison of choice hails from Hungary and has assured all of us, despite his extensive knowledge of the type of thongs bartenders wear at Splash Bar that he's 100% heterosexual. We'll just call him Starving. So Carbomb and Starving are off at their corner of the bar enjoying a flirtatious moment between rounds of dancing and boozing. Luckily, or rather conveniently for me and my new bestie Carbomb, my bartender of choice is stationed right next to Starving. He's a little Latino from Miami with nice lips and an obsession for the phrase, "Yes Bitch!" He's also the person that I've had random bouts of mouth to mouth practice with and was sweet enough to buy me a cupcake on my birthday. He also thought it would be hilarious to tell someone in the bar that we were foster brothers raised in Wooster, so as to weird them out anytime he saw us flirting, something I think we were successful in. If he does anything to piss me off I'll start calling him Fidel on here, but for now we'll call him Charro... because of his pretty lips.
So, all throughout my first High Tea experience I'm dancing it up with Carbomb, flirting it up with Charro, and drinking it up with Tanqueray (not a nickname here, I just mean gin). It was a super fun experience and thankfully the DJ cranked out some fantastic tunes. After helping clean up a bit, trying to get Charro's attention when I can (he plays a mean hand of "hard to get"), I drunkenly hit the hay. My poor kitten Little has grown more and more concerned, leaving AA pamphlets under my pillow and pooping on my vodka. Listen, drinking is only a problem when you wake up... or maybe when you don't...
Day two of Tea, and the day before my bday, happens to be my longest shift at work. Work right now is a little food shop not unlike Panera, or Au Bon Pain. Luckily, even with a bit of a hangover I can still press buttons and smile. I also think of this as a blessing in disguise because I will have to work straight through High Tea and shouldn't be getting drunk the night before my 26th bday anyway. Also, the last thing I need in my life is more booze as at this point my dexterity is questionable at best.
So, after a lazy morning, I collect myself and head to work at the Canteen. It's actually pretty damn cute in there and all I really do is smile and nod, smile and nod, press a button, and smile, and nod. The locals and regulars love the changes that have been made. I bullshit my way through conversations with them about how great it is compared to last year (because at this point I've been here a total of 4 days) and get them to buy bottled water and pay in cash. I may also, on occasion, nudge the tip jar on accident because baby's broke and unabashedly so. Work is moving along just fine from 3pm to 5pm. However we know that come 5:30 we'll be dead because Tea has begun, and honestly who'd prefer a ham sandwich to a vodka soda? We begin our busy work: filling ketchups, brewing more tea, restocking Perrier, etc. when the manager, whom I won't be giving a nickname or talking about at all for the sake of my job, comes in and singles me out.
"Nate, what are you doing right now?"
"Umm... working? Refilling this bucket of sani-naps?"
"Drop that, grab a tray and follow me!"
Oh lord.... motor skills don't fail me now. After scooping up a cute green tray I follow him up to High Tea at the height of it's craziness. I'd guess there were about 300 gays or so dancing and drinking it up. I'm feeling a little woozy and a lot un-cute. Manager man settles me up at the bar with my tray and has none other than Charro make me 9 "Planters Punches." This is a combination of juices and fire water designed to do little more than fuck you up. Oh no... it suddenly dawns on me. Cocktail boy. I'm becoming in this moment, for the first time in my life, a cocktail boy... okay. Okay. I can do this. I think.
For the next hour and a half I carry tray after tray of punch, sold for 9 bucks a pop, around a crowded dance floor. The carrying, not so much a problem. Breaking a twenty dollar bill with a tray of drinks in one hand and 17 ones in the other, sketchy, but successful. Being groped by persons unknown, unable to retaliate because my brain is solely fixed on a tray of cheap booze: priceless. After making my way through sweaty men dancing like mad and making out like whoa, en total I sell 27 punches and even make a few bucks along the way. My dexterity has returned and I'm feeling like a celebrity. Even one of the owners, someone else that I refuse to write about on here for the sake of my summer, compliments my punch peddling skills and even calls me "his favorite." I'm sure I would've been his favorite with or without the empty drink cup in his hand... right?
Anyway, could life get any better? Of course it can! I return to the Canteen feeling like a gad-damn superstar only to find out that we're low on mayo and I get to scoop it with a butter knife from a gallon-sized tub into little to go cups! Amazin.... wait. What?! Me? The cocktailing superstar? The drunk owners favorite?!... Well we've all gotta return to reality some time I suppose. So my Saturday night ends with me slathering Hellman's into tiny plastic cups and getting as little as possible on my Seersucker pants. The only real perk of the evening after that was Charro coming down to buy a sandwich once High Tea closed. I mentioned being a little chilly and that I'd forgotten my scarf upstairs during my punch pushing. Two minutes later the saucy Latina comes waltzing in with my scarf and a smile. Sadly, but adorably, they both warm me up quite a bit. I shouldn't be smitten by anyone yet, but I always have been a fool with my ticker.
After closing up shop and getting the next day off work because it's my bday, I head home and crash. This Tea thing, I can already tell, is the best of times and the worst of times out here on the island. It's where deals are made, love is found, and 40 dollars gets you two stiff drinks and the graze of a cocktail boys backside. I love it. I think.
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