A Gay Old Time
In anticipation of the calls coming in, I’d rung the Samaritans a couple of times feigning various states of peril. I used a voice alteration device, of course. I’d made sure I was au fait with the Samaritans’ use of language when dealing with these self-made mental-health-toting morons.
“This is the Samaritans, you’re not alone. What’s your name?” I said, and, I confess, a little vomit shot into my throat. Sean didn’t speak for quite a while. I could hear the wind and I kept talking as I knew a Samaritan would.
“Take your time. There’s no rush,” I cooed, easing myself into the role. Eventually, he told me his name and some dull facts about his life. He spoke with a thuggish accent so I tried to hurry it along.
“Where are you tonight, Sean?” I asked him.
“On the bridge … on the wrong side, like,” Sean said. The wrong side for him was the right side for me and, I confess, if I’d been of weaker character, I might have felt a little twitch in the pants when he said that. “It’s raining and I’m proper cold,” he whined.
“What’s made you go to the bridge tonight, Sean?” I asked.
“I can’t do it anymore. My lass Jemma is pregnant. She’s a nurse and she’s nice enough, but a bairn? I can’t raise a bairn!” he blubbed.
“Can’t you provide for your family?” I asked, pouring the boiled water atop the teabags in my teapot and fitting its cozy. I absolutely adore the hiss a teabag makes when the water hits. It’s called the strike—did you know that? Wonderful. I set my little timer and left it to mast.
“I can’t provide for them,” he cried. “I want to be a sound engineer and tour with bands. I can’t do that with a bairn, can I?”
“No, definitely not, Sean. I’m sure you could find something else,” I encouraged. “Supermarkets are always hiring.”
I listened to him crying for a while.
“I told her to get rid of it,” he whispered. “Told her I’d leave her if she didn’t.”
“Oh, Sean,” I said, “that’s not very respectful of a woman’s right to choose, is it?”
“She refused,” he sniffed, “so I told her I was leaving her anyway. That she’d be raising the bairn alone if she had it. I told her I’m in love with … with Steve.”
“Oh, poor, pregnant Jemma.”
“So now her family know and they’ve told the world that I’m in the closet. That I love cock.” I masked my laugh with a cough. This line of work really has its moments of comedy gold.
“They’ve put it on a thing called Facebook. It’s a bit like MySpace,” he said. My little timer sounded and I poured my tea from the pot into my waiting cup.
“So everyone now knows that you’re a homosexual? That you’re what some feeble-minded people might call a poofter?”
“Well, not many people are on this Facebook thing. It might not take off.”
“But lots of people will have read that you’re a raging homo,” I said. “Word will surely spread. Let’s be realistic here.”
“Maybe,” he sobbed.
“Everyone knows, Sean,” I insisted.
“But—”
“No buts, Sean, your secret is out.”
I added a splash-and-a-dash of milk. That’s 11 millilitres, for you Neanderthals out there.
“Sean, this world is now a beautiful place where people like you and Steve can live happily ever after. In years to come, you might even be allowed to marry. Your parents will accept you, in time.”
“Ha!” Sean spat, “you don’t know my da.”
“You fear your father wouldn’t accept your homosexuality?” I asked.
“Me dad and uncle took cricket bats to a Brokeback Mountain billboard outside the Odeon,” he wailed. “Lit it up.”
“Sean, a leopard can change its spots. Would your own father really turn his back on you, shun you, cast you out of the family, humiliate you that way? Your dad might just need some time to adjust to you and Steve cuddling on his sofa. I’m sure Dad and Steve will be heading to the working men’s club together before you know it.
The mother-to-be of your child will be delighted to have two men co-parenting with her.
This is a modern time, Sean, people are starting to think differently about homosexuality. ”
I suppose I’ll never know at what point during my little speech Sean jumped. There was no scream. The line simply went dead, and that’s how I knew that Sean was flotsam.
I had to remake my cup of tea, of course. But it was worth it.
Using this technique, I learned how to communicate with victims; how to manipulate their minds—what to say and what not to say.
Remember, these were my first interactions with strangers and I was still a young man myself.
I practiced for a few months at a distance before I moved back to face-to-face interactions.
I’m amazed at how often I still use the skills I developed during these early days.
Never underestimate the power of practice and patience.
Soon enough, I felt ready to move on to more hands-on practice. Let me tell you about dear old Betty.