Hell Hath No Furry

Have you ever met someone out in the real world who was weird, but then the more you encounter them the more open they get? I've had an experience with that over the past seven months that still leaves me baffled and shaking my head. I'm sure it's far from over, but even so, it still makes an interesting story to tell.

I suffer from agoraphobia; I can leave my apartment to go to work, or the post office, but that's about it. The rest of the time I'm perfectly content to be safe in my lair with my cats. The exception to this, of course, is when I go grocery shopping. In the last year, I've learned the pleasures of doing my shopping late at night: fewer people, lighter traffic, less anxiety. Still, I have made my weekly grocery run into an event, after all, why spend so much money on designer clothes just to let them hang on a rack? I love the thrill of coming up with a unique couture ensemble for every outing, learning what works for me and what doesn't. Sometimes, though, my opulence brings the wrong kind of attention.

Back in the late spring, before I'd decided to switch to night shopping permanently, I was at the Meijer in Bay City. The introduction of the Shop and Scan option has really been a godsend to me; with my anxiety I don't want to talk to anyone, let alone a cashier. I don't want anyone silently judging me for my purchases -- condoms or lube -- and I certainly don't want to see the discomfort on the cashier's face when they try to figure out if I'm gay, trans, or both. For all intents and purposes, the Shop and Scan and Self-Checkout methods have made things much easier for me. On one particular afternoon, I was checking out, when I saw that for some reason, the terminal I was at was flashing, meaning I couldn't continue until an employee came over. I was annoyed because, after all, wasn't this supposed to be the most contact-less method of checking out? I knew that I hadn't done anything wrong. but sometimes with the Shop and Scan, it was required that five of my items be scanned manually to make sure that I wasn't stealing. It makes no sense to me, after all, how does scanning five items deter me from stealing when I could easily smuggle something amidst the jumble of my cart or my pockets?

The employee that came over was an awkward looking guy: skinny, but with a belly bursting to get free from his too small work shirt, a mess of crooked teeth, and facial features that suggested some kind of impairment, perhaps. I'm all for hiring special needs people -- if they can do the job -- so I withheld my judgement until he started talking.

It turned out that the problem was that one of the Powerades in my set was ringing up a different price than the others; Meijer was running a five for five special, but for some reason one flavor was still ringing up full price. The guy handled that situation well, calling his superior over and adjusting the price for me, but then once we were alone, he started talking; that's where the weirdness really began.

I vividly remember that I was wearing mascara and black eyeliner, with diamond stud earrings and a fancy Lagerfeld dress shirt. Sure, the makeup was probably a dead giveaway, but still, I was surprised when the associate started talking about some company that he liked; he said that they were big supporters of the LGBT+ community. It was almost Pride month, but still, the conversation seemed out of pocket to me. I wasn't offended that he'd assumed -- however correctly -- that I was gay, but I still prefer to not discuss it. Maybe part of me likes to leave people guessing, giving them something to tell their friends, or maybe I'm still not wholly comfortable with my sexuality; either way, I was uncomfortable that he brought it up. Was he gay, too? There was something about him that struck me as other, but I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was.

A few weeks later, I was back doing my shopping for the week -- this time at night -- when I spotted the same guy running the Self-Checkout lanes on the Grocery side of the store. I hoped that with the surprising throng of people checking out, he wouldn't notice me, or feel the need to come over and talk to me. As it turns out, for whatever reason, I was drawing him to me like a bee to the honey.

I was in the process of paying when I heard a voice: low, soft, and close to my ear. "I knew you'd be back."

I nearly jumped out of my skin. I whipped my head up to see that odd guy standing inappropriately close to me, with a big, awkward grin on his face.

"Well, it is a grocery store," I replied, trying not to be rude, but also attempting to subtly hint that I was uncomfortable.

"I don't blame you for coming at night," he said, moving closer and shaking his head. "There aren't as many people; they can be so judgmental."

I knew that he was referring to my dangly Givenchy earrings, makeup --I was trying out blue eyeshadow -- and silky Versace dress shirt. He was probably just trying to be nice, but his whole demeanor rubbed me the wrong way. "It's not even that," I said emotionlessly, "I really don't like people. I don't want to talk to anyone; I don't want to see anyone."

"I get that," he replied after a second, clearly missing the point of what I was trying to say. Part of him sounded disappointed in my answer.

I hurriedly finished checking out and scrambled for the exit. It wasn't that I thought the guy was going to harm me in any way, but he made me uncomfortable, and that was saying something. Making people uncomfortable is my schtick, at least, in a funny way, but this wasn't someone trying to be silly, this was someone who didn't understand that it isn't appropriate to whisper in a customer's ear, let alone whisper something creepy. I didn't want to be a male Karen and report him, but I also didn't want to be accosted every time I came to do my shopping.

The next week, I saw the guy outside the store smoking a cigarette as I was walking in. Thankfully, he was busy in conversation with one of his coworkers, so I was able to keep my head low and scurry past him. If he was uncomfortably odd in the store, I didn't want to imagine what he'd be like outside of the store. In that moment, I was so glad that I'd given up smoking; I wanted nothing in common with him. I'd debated bringing my headphones so that I could immerse myself in Taylor Swift or Ben Platt -- and make myself unavailable for his antics -- or calling my mom, but I've always thought it was bizarre to have an entire phone conversation in the store; the few times that I had, people looked at me like I was insane, until they realized that I had headphones on and wasn't just having a conversation with myself. In the end, I'd opted not to bring the headphones because I'd spent too much time styling my hair and it was far too hot to have anything unnecessary on me; I knew that the store had air conditioning, but my apartment did not. I needed to fully enjoy the cold air in my car and in the store unencumbered.

Once again, that night, I was in the middle of checking out when he came up and said, "I knew you'd be back," again, and flashed me that creepy smile. It took all that I had not to tell him to leave me alone; my mother didn't raise me to be mean to people who are different; I also knew that as someone who was genuinely different and also incredibly misunderstood, it would be hypocritical of me to be mean to him. After I got back to my car, I texted my mom about it, assuming she'd be as freaked out as I was. Surprisingly, she was completely unsympathetic; she told me that I was being overly dramatic, that if he was really making me that uncomfortable, then I should go to a different checkout lane, report him to the manager, or just go to a different store altogether. Maybe she was right; maybe I was overreacting. The truth was, if the guy was attractive, I'd have been eating his attention up, flirting with him and imagining our life together. I didn't want to get him into trouble, but I also didn't want to be disturbed every time; just because I shopped there frequently, that didn't mean that he and I were friends. Just because I'm gay and he was...whatever he was, didn't mean that we were friends.

I went the rest of the summer without seeing him. I not so secretly hoped that he'd gotten reported and fired. I felt myself relax; I was able to look forward to my weekly foray into the real world again, but when I was settling back into my carefree routine, I got a call from my cousin Megan.

Even though Megan is twelve years older than I am, I always felt drawn to her as a kid. She was an adult, but not an adult like my aunts and uncles were. She was still young enough that she understood all of my obsessions; she was into the bizarre cult classics that I was into like The Rocky Horror Picture Show and Hedwig and the Angry Inch, as well as lavish musicals like Moulin Rouge. I had loved her dearly as a kid, but it wasn't until I'd moved to the area at nineteen that she and I got very close; she was the first person that I came out to. Whenever I was going through something, Megan was the one I called, because I knew that she loved me unconditionally, and she would support me, but also, she wouldn't coddle me; she'd call me out on my shit if I was in the wrong. We're cousins, but she's more of a big sister to me.

We were catching up on my grandma's deteriorating health, as well as our own personal dramas, when Megan told me that she and her husband had gone to the Meijer in Bay City -- they normally went to the Essexville store -- and she had encountered the creepy guy. While lost in scanning her items, she had not noticed him until he was behind her and went, "nom, nom, nom, nom, nom!" in her ear. She and her husband had kept it together until they'd left the store and then had wondered what the fuck had just happened. I was so glad that someone I trusted had also had a bizarre interaction with the guy; at least I knew that I wasn't just being a drama queen. Unfortunately, the encounter had been the previous week, which meant that my theory that he'd been fired was wrong.

As miraculous as it was that I had able to avoid him throughout the summer, come fall, he was back on the Self-Checkout lane. I knew that there was a chance that an associate would have to scan some of my items, but I'd hoped that it would be the other guy, or one of the nice ladies, not the weird guy. I'd gotten into the habit of trying to casually peer out of the corner of my eye at the checkout as I was coming in, trying to determine if he was there or not. He hadn't been for a while, but apparently they swapped out Self-Checkout attendants, because he was there by the time I was checking out. That particular day I was wearing a gray fedora and my purple plaid coat, a replica of an outfit that Carrie Bradshaw had worn in an episode of the second season of And Just Like That...

When the guy walked over, he didn't recognize me right away; I tried to keep my head down so that he wouldn't get a good look at my face, but as he was scanning my items -- now it was a set dollar amount instead of five items -- he glanced at me, did a double take, and then smiled. "I like your incognito," he said, motioning around his head, presumably regarding my hat.

I wanted to point out to him that you can't own incognito, that it was adjective, not a verb, but I didn't want to talk to him any more than I absolutely had to, so I just thanked him.

"Why do you think furries only come out at night?" he asked, scanning a few items and then turning to face me.

What did I do to deserve this? I couldn't help but wonder. "Because people are judgmental," I grudgingly replied.

"Furry conventions are great, though. The furry community really sticks together. If you mess with one of us, you mess with all of us."

In that moment, it made perfect sense. I don't like to kink shame...well, not too much, but everyone I'd encountered who identified as a furry was incredibly weird. The most normal furry I'd ever encountered, was a guy named Shane that I'd been talking to the spring after Terrence had ghosted me. He had been a great guy but had clearly had his fair share of issues; no judgement there, I have plenty of my own. Shane had not been a furry while we were courting, otherwise I'd have asked him to explain it to me.

"Fur suits are so expensive," the guy continued, oblivious to my disinterest and desire to get as far away from him as humanly possible.

"I bet. I have a fur coat; it was very expensive."

"Do you know Chat VR?"

"Yes," I answered instnictually. He stared at me blanky, so I amended, "I mean, I've heard of it. I haven't experienced it for myself."

He got a weird look on his face, almost like he was angry that I was ignorant about Chat VR. He mumbled something that sounded like, "why do I always go after kids?"

"You've gotta leave the kids alone," I said, keeping my tone light, but hoping that I was not conversing with not only a furry, but a pedophile to boot.

"I know. I go on there for the artwork, but there's some crazy stuff on there. Stuff that I'm like, 'whoa! That's a little too far.'"

"I bet." I was completely done checking out, but I didn't feel bold enough to just make a mad dash for the door.

"It takes a lot a time to draw that stuff."

"Well, sometimes with your hobbies you have to do that."

Suddenly, a woman behind me got his attention and called him over; in that moment, I believed in God with a confidence that I never quite had before. I took the opportunity to get out of dodge before he came back and wanted to pull it up on his phone and start showing me what I could only imagine would be digital furry porn.

The following week, he cornered me again, sashaying over for no reason other than that he had recognized me. I still wasn't sure if he was gay, too, or if he just assumed that because I'm gay that I'm open minded and completely accepting of others -- I'm not -- but whatever his reasoning was, he had attached himself to me, however tangentially.

My birthday was the following week; I'd been feeling better stomach-wise and decided that a bottle of Pink Moscato for my birthday might be allowed. Of course, I knew that buying alcohol would require having an associate some scan my ID, but I wanted it badly enough that I'd risk it. As luck would have it, the furry was working the Self-Checkout lane. He came over to scan my ID and balked at my wine. "It's for a special occasion," I explained, trying to be cordial. "I rarely drink."

"Yeah, but you do the other thing, right?" he asked.

I wasn't sure if he was referring to cigarettes, weed, or drugs in general, but my answer was the same to all. "No, I'm completely sober."

I didn't want to delve into my stomach issues, certainly not with him, so I left it at that, starting to walk away.

"You know, I'm a fury. I looked into buying a fur suit," he said, as if picking up our conversation from the previous week -- that's perfectly normal, right? "They're really expensive! The cheapest one I found was, like, $15,000! And you can't wash them in a washing machine. You have to hand wash them."

He was walking alongside me, matching my pace. If I didn't know that he couldn't actually follow me out of the store, I might have been worried. The last thing I wanted was for him to see my car or memorize my license plate. I didn't want to be too overly dramatic, but with this guy, it was anyone's guess how crazy he was.

"You could probably take it to a furrier," I said, figuring that a fur suit wouldn't be totally different than a fur coat. "That's what I have to do with my coyote fur coat."

I was passing his terminal, close to the door when he stopped. "I looked into renting one."

"That's probably the cheaper option," I threw over my shoulder before speeding up my pace and walking out the door to safety.

Maybe I'm an asshole, but I've always felt that just because I'm gay, that doesn't mean that I automatically have to like or have any camaraderie with another gay person. When the tragic shooting happened at Pulse back in 2016, I'd been annoyed by all of the gays on Facebook posting incessantly about it; none of them had done that for the Sandy Hook shooting. In my opinion, just because the victims were gay, that didn't make it any worse of a tragedy. Similarly, I don't fully agree with transgender being part of the LGB umbrella -- not out of hate -- because lesbian, gay, and bi are sexualities; transgender is a gender identity. I do understand that the inclusion of the T in the LGBT+ is actually about undesirables, rejects, accepting other rejects in solidarity; that I am completely agreeable to. I firmly believe that no one should feel alone or like they don't belong, ever. We are all so different, but when it comes down to it, we're all human, we all want the same things, especially to be loved and accepted for who we are, full stop.

I think that Grindr should strictly be for gay and bi guys; a transgender version should be developed so that the transgender community can have their own dating/hookup app. I feel bad whenever a trans woman messages me and I have to be brutally honest; I'm not into trans men or trans women; I like men who have penises and identify as men; no hate, that's just my personal preference. Thankfully, I haven't had any bad interactions when I confess my lack of sexual interest in a trans person; the last thing I ever want is for someone to feel rejected for being their authentic self. Unfortunately, though, I am a gay man, and having a dick and looking/acting like a man is a necessity to me in a sexual or romantic relationship.

I encountered the furry a few weeks later when I was wearing my fur coat. It was a chilly night; the coat kept me warm, too warm in fact. I saw him spot me; his eyes widened in recognition, but thankfully he was headed toward the back of the store. He must have been moved to stocking or something, because he was headed toward the back of the store and did not resurface as far as I could tell.

When my friends and I went to see Wicked: For Good -- for the second time -- I decided to go all-out. When I'd gone to see Wicked: Part One I'd donned green lipstick and a green jacket to show my Elphaba pride, but a year later, I was in my glam Glinda era and instead decided to wear my pink dress pants, periwinkle Lacroix dress shirt, as well as my replica of Glinda's bubble crown and bubble earrings; I even carried the kid's version of her bubble wand. I knew that I was going to get some weird looks from people -- especially since it was earlier in the evening -- but I didn't care. I was with friends who wouldn't let me get hurt or harassed, and I was proud of my Wicked obsession. I caught the furry spotting me again as he was walking to the back; this time he did a double take. He looked like he wanted to come over and say something, but thankfully, he didn't. By the time we were checking out, he'd made his way back to the Self-Checkout lane; I begged my friend Lily to stand in front of me, to do her best to shield me from him so that he wouldn't come over and talk to me again. Thankfully, it was busy enough that he was distracted, and I didn't require any additional scanning, so I was able to get out without another strange interaction.

It's been roughly a month since I've seen the furry; I hope this streak continues. I'm sure he's harmless, but I am too neurodivergent and too awkward to be okay with his bizarre idea of conversation. I don't care what people do in the privacy of their homes, or hell, even in a safe space like a convention. I'm a fan of going to Comic Con -- mainly for the celebrity interactions -- but I don't judge the nerds who go just for the ability to dress up like their favorite superhero, comic book -- or TV -- character and not be judged for it; I completely understand and respect that. The same goes for furry conventions; I hadn't known that those existed, but I'm glad that the furry community has a safe space to converge and share in their passions. As for me, I want to remain ignorant about the subject, especially when I'm just trying to get groceries for the week.

There is a part of me -- okay all of me -- that gets the automatic icks at the idea of furries. I know that's it's not all about dressing up like animals and having sex, but the whole thing just makes me uncomfortable. I'm well aware that this makes me a hypocrite; after all I went through a major obsession with the musical Cats during the summer of 2005; the following spring, my grandmother was able to get us all tickets to see a community production, and at intermission, some of the ensemble "cats" stayed on stage. You could go up and pet them; one "cat" was crawling around, batting at a ball of string. Another crawled by me and rubbed on my leg, bunting, so to speak. Megan was creeped out, but I loved it. I don't know why I have such an obsession with felines in general and why that hasn't transferred into furry territory, but I just really like cats; I truly think that they are the most majestic of animals and being loved by one is the greatest honor that could be bestowed on you. I often joke that I am the human equivalent of a cat, but that doesn't mean that I want to don a fur suit and pretend to be one.

At the end of the day, I respect everyone's right to their passions and the ability to express themselves as they sit fit, but I don't always get it; if I don't get it, I prefer to be as far from whatever it is as possible. I don't try to be narrow-minded or overly judgmental; I'm very much a product of how I was raised and the time in which I was raised. Once again, I acknowledge that this can at times make me hypocritical, but I am who I am and I refuse to change or apologize for that to make someone else comfortable. I am human -- with all of its contradictions and beautiful complexities. I don't wish anyone harm, I just prefer to avoid things that I don't understand or don't agree with. I believe that if more people were like me, there would be a lot less hate in the world. I truly feel that everyone has the right to be whoever they want to be without fear of being physically or verbally abused for it; I also feel that people don't have to like things that they don't agree with, just as long as they aren't harming anyone for their beliefs. In saying this, however, I'm fully aware that not everyone can dislike or not agree with something and just keep it to themselves; it's sad that not liking or understanding something results in unecessary hate and violence.

I'm sure I will see more of the furry; now that I have an outlet for my confusion and discomfort with him, I am low-key looking forward to having more interactions with him for no other reason than the story. If I'm being honest, I'm totally a do-it-for-the-plot guy. It's not my fault that the plot is so juicy.