"Wait!"

A lean man in a black suit comes tumbling out from what I assume is where the samples view the tasters. He has meticulously manicured features, and no hair is out of place. The poor man is so red I start to feel bad for him. He straightens himself and brushes off imaginary dust from his jacket.

"I’d… I’d like to be your friend?"

"Is that a question or a statement?"

"No. I mean yes!" He sighs and runs his hair tussling it up a bit. "I would like to be your friend. No one has ever nailed me down so quickly before. I’d like to be friends with people who can see the real me. Can I get your number?"

I smile at him. I can feel how genuine he is. So I had him my phone and he programs his number in and shyly goes back into his hiding place.

I can say without a doubt this is one of the most interesting clubs I've ever been to. I step out of the room with a smile on my face. I look down the hall at the guests milling around and some even forming lines in front a few doors. At the very end of the hall I see a long line of both women and men at one door. I stop a passing guest and inquire,

"Whats so special about that sample?"

"Oh! That's everyone's favorite sample."

"Favorite sample?"

"Yes. His tastes are very unique, he's very mysterious and no one has even seen him yet! He always gets the most Meal requests, but rumor has it he has never accepted any of them. Everyone always wants to try to crack him and get a meal request."

"Ah I see. Thank you." I count the guest in the line and decide the wait is too long. I shrug and continue down the hall readying the doors and looking for something interesting. I know Antonio is here somewhere. He told me I would have to guess which sample he is. He was very tight lipped about what he was doing, but I am determined to find him and at least say hello. I read another few doors and stop at one that says;

Sample: Lemon Drop

Sexual Preference: Gay

I laugh to myself. A lemon drop is Antonio's favorite drink. Of course he would be this obvious. The light above his room is red, so I decide to go to another door and come back. I come to another door that seems very interesting. The plaque states:

Sample: Onion Rings

Sexual Preference: Straight

I enter the room. Inside I find a couch and not a table. The couch is brown leather, but in good condition, a matching ottoman with a wooden tray sits in front. The tray has a typical diner basket of onion rings. It even has that silly little red and white checkered paper as a lining. Beside the basket of onion rings is a beer. I lift the frosted mug and smell it. PBR, Of course. I place the beer back on the tray and scrunch my nose in disgust.

"Not a beer fan?" A voice startles me. The voice is deep and has a southern accent.

"Not a PBR fan."

"You can tell it's PBR just from smellin’ it."

"It's really not that hard if you enjoy beers."

"I guess. That's amazin’, but you ain't American, how you know anythin' bout beer."

"I am American." I chuckle.

"Ya don't sound American. Sure as hell don't look like it."

"Perhaps Tennessee needs a taste of culture if you think I am not American. I suppose it is just mixing pot of different cultures. We all call ourselves American, but if we were truly to look at lineage we are simply aliens who have now made America home. Thus we grant ourselves the title “American.”

"How’d ya know I was from Tennessee?" Of course that was the only thing he caught.

"Your accent." I reply.

"Really?! Wow ya sure are smart."

I laugh wryly, annoyed with this fake conversation. Perhaps this wasn’t a good choice in rooms, but something tells me this guy is just putting up a dumb front. Just because he is from the South doesn’t mean he isn't cultured. I would venture to say this southern boy hasn't lived there in quite some time. This city has the tendency to change people, open their eyes to things they've never experienced before. I have a feeling this southern boy, is just that, a changed man. I start my questions to pull his true self to the surface.

"You like football?"

"Yes ma’am!"

"Any particular team?"

"Nah. Its just a fun sport to watch a stuff." 

"I see, who is your favorite player?"

"OH! Ya know that Tom Brady."

"He's that linebacker for the Titans right?"

"Yeah!" I laugh at him. He has no idea who Tom Brady is and obviously doesn't know that if you live in Tennessee you should love the Titans and not the Patriots.  I only know this because Antonio has a thing for football players, well jocks, so he watches sports so he has something to talk to them about. I watch with him when I'm bored and he explains things to me so that he can "perfect the art of chatting with sports oriented gays", whatever that means. 

"You don’t have to hide from me you know. Anyone could tell you don’t like sports."

"Oh well…. Yeah I guess you're right." He sighs, his accent completely gone. 

"What do you do for living outside of this club?"

"I’m…" He hesitates but continues, "I'm a Pastry Chef."

"Onion Rings..... huh?"

"Well… I love em! And… I don't know."

"Yes you do. Onion Rings may be a favored treat of yours, but if you chose something that truly spoke of yourself it would probably be made of choux pastry, like a cream puff, with custard filling and berries, black berries if I guess right."

"Wow… You're actually right. Although I prefer the tang of raspberries over the bluntness of blackberries."

"AH! So close, at least it was a berry."

"How did you know?"

"Well, I didn't. Not for sure anyways. I merely took in my surroundings and our conversation and made an educated guess on what you like."

"And what do I like? Other than Onion Rings."

"You love pastry and if you are a good chef, then your taste is fine and delicate, but deep and vast. Onion rings are only the surface. The first step in getting to know you. I would venture to say that you chose this food because this is how people often see you. A large domineering man, most probably ask you if you play football, especially if you're from Tennessee. You don't think people will see past the large lumbering man, so you just go along with it. I can imagine that something breaks inside your heart every time your misjudged."

"Well, I don't think I've ever been so eloquently deconstructed, and by an Emo at that."

"Emo..." I shake my head in annoyance. He didn't even try to get to know me or turn the conversation so he could get to know me. A novelty I pose again. 

"AH! I don't mean to offend. You just…"

"None taken. Good sir, I’m afraid that our time is coming to an end. Thank you for your sample. Although it looks quite delicious. I don't enjoy onion, nor PBR." 

I leave the room quickly before he can object or say anything else. Disappointing. This sample seemed interesting, but I am not. I don't have time to help someone out of hiding. I do enough of that myself. Enough wallowing, on to the next sample.