Subject: ROBERTS' RULES: OK
From: [email-masked]
Date: Wed, 9 Apr 1997 11:14:49 +0000

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ROBERTS' RULES
by Shelly Roberts

OKLAHOMO.

Yes, there are gay people in Oklahoma City, and I've met all three of
them.  Ok, well, probably there are more, but when you're used to big
city blatant, it's hard to remember the comfort of the closet.  When
you're in Oklahoma City, it's hard not to.

I have come to this town for a month on a writing assignment that
keeps me occupied fifteen, sixteen, maybe seventeen hours a day with
no week ends off for any kind of behavior, and this is my last week
here. So it's kind of like the last fifty miles of a cross country
trip.  No matter how close the end of the journey actually is, it
always seems like one hour more too far.

But don't get me wrong.  I love Oklahoma.  The people here are still
nice. Let me rephrase that.  They ARE, of course, nice.  But they're
also still polite.  Something that has perhaps slipped out of the
syllabus for bossier cites than Oklahoma City cares to become. People
in traffic not only let you butt in, but they figure that you've been
sitting in the Walmart driveway long enough, and they wave you out
without grazing your bumper, or giving you one finger salutes.

I was driving across the city a few weeks ago, and out into a more
rural, more farmy location for some commercial production that will
eventually grow into a television advertising campaign, humming, what
else? O-O-kla-homa where the wind comes sweeping down your neck. And I
found out a couple of statistically projectable things about this fine
city.  I rolled down the window to let go of the dead stub end of my
Benson & Hedges DeLuxe Ultra Light menthols (No lectures please about
why I'm smoking again, thank you) and watched the object deny Newton's
concept of things heavier than air falling toward the earth.  Hmmm.
Maybe there's a reason for that wind song?  

The next thing I noticed was that there are more Baptist and Fundie
churches here than there are Burger Kings.  Though I didn't see any
drive through windows.  (Here's your order of body of Christ.  Would
you like that with fries?) (And while we're on the subject, no
religious tolerance lectures either, please.)  As I was counting
wood-shack, tin roof steeples, I happened to glance at the car
directly in front of me, occassionally a good thing to do while you
are operating heavy machinery like a road grader, or, oh, say, a
rented Chevrolet, and read the vanity plate, clearly a misnomer in
this case.  It said "I AM HOLY"

So the disappearance of rainbow flags, not to mention rainbow people,
was hardly surprising. Where God is Good, triangle folks tend to seek
social storm cellars and heavy denial for protection.

Now, I have to tell you that the three gay people I did meet here are,
what can I say, nice.  And polite.  And well they should be.  They all
come from here. And random acts of smash and seize aren't the golden
rule. But easy to spot.  I think the fundies jam the gaydar.

The second day in the office I wore my way cool new denim jacket with
the big blue and gold equal sign and Human Rights Campaign embroidered
on the back, and, well it WAS cold in the office, kept it on most of
the day.  One person from the art department (whatta surprise -
although the bigger surprise should have been that it was only one.)
smiled knowingly and said, "nice jacket."  Aha.  My first live gay
Oklahoman.  The second one I met, I haven't met yet.  She's the writer
for the Gaily Oklahoman (The big metro paper here is the Daily
Oklahoman, get it?) And though we meant to hitch up our carts to the
same watering hole, we've managed to play musical meetings for nearly
a month.  But I know she's real.  And it was a local call.

________________________
(C) 1997. Shelly Roberts. All rights reserved.
May be commercially reprinted only in its entirety with written
permission.

Shelly Roberts is an internationally syndicated columnist, and the
author of the next best-seller Roberts' Rules of Lesbian Break-Ups.
(Spinsters Ink.)