Gay Tweakers

[The following post was written over a year ago while I was still living in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. For some reason I never posted it. I think I refrained from doing so because I didn’t think the humor translated well when I wrote the experience down. (That’s also my disclaimer if you don’t find it the least bit amusing.) Anyway, I never bothered erasing it because my dad passed away soon after, and this short post illustrated two of his strongest characteristics – his humor and his inability to pass someone in need without helping.]

The other night my dad, brother Patrick, and I were driving to my parent’s house in Kelly Wyoming, which is just outside of Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Before we got to the Kelly turn-off we noticed a hitchhiker with a cold thumb exposed, and decided to give him a ride. As soon as he was in the car we realized he was a little off. Having no experience in the field of psychology I was unable to diagnose his particular type or severity of off-ness but sufficed to say it was evident to anyone who may have encountered him. The following dialogue is as close as I can remember it.

Hitch: Thanks for stopping.

Dad: No problem. Where are you going?

Hitch: Dornans. (Dornans is one of those Dutch-oven-dinner/restaurant/gas station/fish-and-tackle sort of places. I’m somewhat blown away it’s not a nation wide chain.)

Pat: What do you do out there?

Hitch: I wait tables.

Dad/Pat/Me: Hmmm. Nice. Harrumph, harrumph.

Hitch: Where are you guys going?

Dad: I live in Kelly.

Hitch: Oh, okay. (pause) I sure am glad you guys are normal.

Me: What do you mean?

Hitch: Every time I hitch, I get picked up by the weirdest people. Just a few days ago I got picked up by these Indians that were totally wasted. I was sure that if we didn’t all die in a wreck, they were going to take me into the woods and beat me to death. And a few weeks before that I got picked up by two gay tweakers.

Me: What’s a gay tweaker?

Hitch: (looking at me with mild surprise due to my ignorance and then saying with a frank matter-of-factness) A gay tweaker. You know, a queer tweaker.

Dad/Pat/Me: (laughing at the misunderstanding)

Me: I figured out the “gay” part. What’s a “tweaker”?

Hitch: (again, with the same look of surprise) Someone who tweaks.

Dad/Pat/Me: (laughing)

Me: What does someone who “tweaks” do?

Hitch: They tweak; get high; take drugs.

Dad/Pat/Me: Oh, well. Of course. So simple. Should have known.

Dad: Well you lucked out because none of us are “gay-tweakers”. Although, (pointing to Me, then Pat) he’s gay and he’s a tweaker.

Hitch: (with look of concern) Really?


Needless to say, “Gay Tweaker” is now one of our favorite insults, and is used liberally on each other at any and all opportunities.