Queerty breaks down why the cheery tones of the Salvation Army bells downtown still make me feel like a second-class citizen.
I was getting a pita doing some late Christmas shopping for my loved ones downtown the other day when the familiar ring of the Salvation Army bell nearly stopped me in my tracks. It was drifting over from across the street. I was headed that way. The light changed, and I walked. The closer I got, the bigger the knot grew in my stomach. I think I visibly stiffened.
I don’t know if it was the way I stared at the ground or what — it’s not like I really read gay (at least not as much as I’d like to) — but as I approached, the man standing at the little red kettle literally silenced his bell. He stood solemnly, like a pallbearer at a funeral, and watched me pass.
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