The guy behind me in line has decided he doesn't like me. He's got a baseball cap with a pre-ripped bill, cocked to the side at a 30 degree angle. He likes Miller High Life, family pets set on fire, the effect of GHB on others and the effect of DMB on himself.
He taps me on the shoulder, indicating a guy off to the side who is rubbing sunblock into his legs. "You'd like to help him out, wouldn't you?" Inexplicably, he doesn't directly add, "...faggot," and I'd like to commend him on his tact.
I pick up my beer–a nice Brooklyn Weisse, and tell him, "I'm just getting drunk enough to fuck your mother," as I walked away. I spill a little bit of my beer when he pushes me and yelles "Fucking faggot!" (ahhh, there it is!) but I donn't turn around, and I've been expecting much worse. I don't know what he does after that; I donn't turn around, though I am expecting to get hit at any moment.
I don't pretend to be brave–I spend the entire time after that until the Thermals set waiting to get jumped and punched in the face until something broke (I was hoping "his fist" but ready for "my nose"). But then the set starts, and I forget it, what with the dancing and the fist-pumping and the general rocking out and not getting punched.
The frequency with which I get called "faggot" is puzzling to me. Is it just what's replaced "nerd" or "loser" as the asshole epithet of choice? And the completely random nature of these incidents baffles me. Did a guy in glasses and a Menomena t-shirt steal his last girlfriend? Was the presence of a lot of men in swimsuits making him feel things he wasn't comfortable with, and he decided to lash out at me?
I'm not terribly comfortable just saying that someone is simply an a priori asshole, but that just might need to be what I have to resign myself to, in this instance.