Lately, the lower-level employees have decided my sexuality is open season. I get called “Twinkle Toes,” “Rainbow Ranger,” and, when they’re feeling extra creative, “The Gaytor.” The real geniuses, though, just lean on “faggot” or “gay-ass white boy.” Jamal’s personal favorite? “Fruit Loop.”

This morning’s huddle hit a new low when Jerry mimed a limp-wristed wave as I assigned shifts. The room exploded with laughter. That was it. I marched to HR, ready for justice.

Tabitha, of course, was holding court in her lair, Big Gulp in one hand, a bucket of Popeyes on her desk. She barely acknowledged my presence. “What now, Evan?” she muttered, eyes glued to her soap opera.

I laid out the situation with all the diplomacy I could muster. For about seven seconds, she pretended to care. Then, without looking up, she delivered her verdict: “Evan, do you even know what century this is?” She leaned back and took an aggressive slurp of Diet Coke. “People say things. You’re a grown-ass man. Maybe if you weren’t such a tight-ass bitch, they’d ease up. Or, you know, maybe stop being a twink—doesn’t help your case.”

When I mentioned that this harassment had been going on for months, her only response was a dry laugh that sounded like a garbage disposal. “Evan, unless they’re physically assaulting you or tying a noose on your locker, HR doesn’t have time for your fragile feelings. And let’s be real, a noose wouldn’t even matter—you’re white.”

She capped it off with, “Want my advice? Go hit the gym. Maybe lift a pallet of water bottles, show ’em you’re not a total fruitcake. Build some cred, cutie.”

As I turned to leave, utterly defeated, Tabitha called after me: “Oh, and Evan? You might want to reconsider those skinny pants. They’re sending… mixed signals.”

Back on the floor, Jerry and Jamal were already celebrating. As I walked past, Jerry elbowed Jamal and smirked: “Here comes Faggy McFag, ready to teach us how to accessorize the cereal aisle.”

Stocked the frozen aisle solo, their laughter still echoing from the breakroom. Leaned against the freezer door, felt the cold seep into my bones, and whispered, “Yes, friend. This is fine.”

(http://www.autoadmit.com/thread.php?thread_id=5630896&forum_id=2Elisa#48315034)