When it comes to going home for the holidays, a person who has escaped to the proverbial big city can tend to forget, just for a moment, why they did so in the first place. Initially charmed by the slower, less stressful pace of life that is anywhere except the “Big Five” of the U.S. (Los Angeles, San Francisco, Chicago, Boston and New York), it’s easy to be glamored anew by the prospect of “just giving up” and moving home again, where it doesn’t feel as though one has to fight for every little thing, even what should be the most basic—like, say, getting a parking spot. But, luckily (or unluckily), it takes very little time to remember why you left in the first place.

That was certainly the case for Leila Jager just two days into her Christmas visit. She had returned to the town from whence she came after the past couple of years bypassing the whole “home for the holidays” tradition in favor of spending it with her boyfriend in Los Angeles. That she still lived only a few hours away by car likely made this decision more hurtful to her parents and siblings, all of whom had ultimately remained local after brief stints in other places. Places that they found weren’t “quite right” for them. A.k.a. their small-town mentality. A small town called Arksville, just northwest of Bakersfield. And like Bakersfield, it was located inland, therefore prone to housing the kind of population that gravitated toward this type of Californian geography rather than the coastal kind that most (who didn’t know better) associated the state with. The kind of population that still taught their children the “good Christian values” that were, in their minds, the “backbone” of ‘Murica. But not the backbone of the United States, which was founded on the ideals of tolerance and freedom. Theoretically. But, thus far, “in practice,” the philosophies of the Founding Fathers (oh that patriarchal term) hadn’t really panned out. There was hardly anything resembling “acceptance” or “understanding” in the U.S. And that reality had, surprisingly, only worsened as time wore on. Even though one would think that, the further into the future this Earth—ergo, this country—went, the more “open” it would be, the less fazed by much of anything. The opposite appears to be true.

That’s certainly what Leila was forced to reconcile with on her second day back in the environment where she had supposedly “come from.” But no, she couldn’t possibly be from here. She was nothing like these people. Never had been. It was her theory that she was born in a big city, spent her least coherent years there and was then rudely moved to this bumfuck-nowhere milieu. A milieu as aesthetically bland and characterless as the denizens it attracted. Never was that more obvious than when her father, Gerald a.k.a. Gerry, dragged her to the local Costco. As it is, Costco is already well-known for being the sort of place that draws in the ultimate in American stereotypes. But those stereotypes, Leila swore, ramped up tenfold at the Arksville location. Inwardly prompting her to quip that it would have inspired God to invoke another massive flood that would create a new Genesis narrative called “Noah’s Arksville.”

She had come along because it was the best way to spend time with Gerry. The best way to show affection by being willing to do menial errands that Gerry knew she hated, but would still endure in exchange for the pleasure of his company. And she also knew, deep down, that he would reward her willingness to suffer with the offer of a pizza slice at the end of “the rainbow.” Though, as she was about to be reminded, there was nothing queer enough about Costco to wield any rainbow metaphors.

Once Gerry had ordered the pizza, the two went to one of the open tables where you could stand and wait/eat. These were the only tables available as all the ones with seats were occupied. No one at Costco was willing to stand up while they ate. They were a combination of too rotund and lazy for that sort of “effort.” Which, one supposes, worked in Leila’s favor as it meant not having to be too close to anyone that would 1) be offended by her and 2) that she would be offended by. That all changed, unfortunately, with Gerry’s impromptu suggestion that Leila go and seize upon the “opportunity” to get the twenty-five cent water being sold in the vending machine near the Costco Food Court, where all of their unhealthiest Kirkland Signature products were served hot and fresh to go. Water, needless to say, was the healthiest item to be found in said food court. Maybe that’s, in part, why Gerry was allured by it, feeling too guilty whenever he dared to indulge in the full extent of his American cravings for high sodium and high fructose corn syrup. Or maybe, like everyone at Costco, he was just addicted to the idea that he was “getting a bargain.”

And who was Leila to deny him that feeling? So she obliged his request, approaching the vending machine with her canvas bag in hand. A bag she carried all the time, thinking nothing of what was on it. Or when she did, only of how much she still loved the image. What it represented and what it meant for the time in which it took place. As she placed the quarter in the machine and waited for it to (very slowly) make up its mind about dispensing a goddamn water bottle, she could feel a presence looming. And then see it out of the corner of her eye.

“That’s a weird bag,” accused a high-pitched voice. The unmistakable voice of youth.

Without missing a beat, Leila turned to him and countered, “What’s weird about it?”

The boy who had thrown down the gauntlet said nothing, just continued to look at her and the bag with disgust. His interest and condemnation had piqued the stares of a trio of little girls he was with. Who knows if they were his sisters or nothing more than mere “playmates” (that innuendo-laden word…thanks to Hugh Hefner). Whatever the case, they were susceptible to his power of suggestion—the suggestion that the bag she was carrying—in other words, her purse—was “weird.” And why might he think it was “weird”? Well, because it bore the “salacious” image of Madonna and Britney Spears kissing. You know, that famous/infamous moment when the two locked lips during the 2003 MTV Video Music Awards. Something these children would probably never know about. Shit, they’d probably never even heard of MTV. And of course, they might never know about Madonna or Britney Spears either. But one thing, Leila reckoned, that they should know about was same-sex “tendencies.” And that there was absolutely nothing wrong with such feelings. In fact, it was the straights who were “weird.”

This child was obviously being indoctrinated to believe otherwise. Heteronormative “ideals” had been saturated within his subconscious and was now seeping out in the form of hateful, bullying behavior—of a fucking adult. So it was that Leila felt it was her responsibility to calmly reply to the little asshole, “What’s weird about it?” She knew, in that instant, that she had probably been the only person in his life who had ever normalized a non-hetero situation (though really, it was Madonna and Britney doing all the work…as usual). It was an odious realization. No wonder he was so fucking rude—he had been conditioned from the start to believe that anything that wasn’t “like him” and his “own” was “weird.” This corn-fed, blonde-haired, blue-eyed dickhead who looked like his name would be Timmy. And the even more tragic thing is that the Madonna and Britney moment was about as hetero as a lesbian kiss could get.

Meanwhile, the girls that had only taken notice of her and her bag because of “Timmy” putting a spotlight on it kept looking at Leila like she was some sort of devil woman. This reaction was mirrored by the mother figure that finally materialized to intervene in the odd scenario. Odd for many reasons. In the first place, that “Timmy” had clocked her bag at all despite the fact that she had it facing away from him and also odd because the Costco in Arksville had never imagined there could be such a glitch as Leila in their matrix. Her very presence there “should never have happened.” Which is why “Timmy” could immediately detect something “off” about her person—which turned out to be, upon closer inspection on his part, her bag.

Yes, she was a glitch all right. Leila who had exposed “the children” to the depths of “sin” with a pop culture reference that would have been appreciated rather than lambasted in L.A. (well, certain parts of L.A.). This is why, when the mother approached to weigh in on what was going on, sizing up Leila’s bag and seeing what her son was branding as “weird,” she was in agreement. Probably thought to herself that she had taught her son well, curtly saying to Leila, “We’re not doing kissing yet.” This meant, however awkwardly phrased, that “kissing” wasn’t on her children’s radar. They were too young and too “innocent” still to “comprehend” it. Ha! Yeah right, bitch. This fucking freakshow is probably trying to kiss every girl and boy on the playground. And stick his finger up their asses, too. That was the first thought that entered Leila’s mind. The second was: who the hell says “doing kissing”? It was on par with Deena from Jersey Shore calling it “doing sex.” She was always legitimately asking, “Do you wanna do sex?” Clearly, the answer for this matriarch on behalf of herself and her children was: only if it’s heterosexual.

There were many “routes” Leila could have taken in response to this woman who was the main head in a Hydra of narrow-mindedness. She could have tried to educate her on all the ways she was failing to raise her children well. She could have simply called her out for being blatantly homophobic (Christ knows she wouldn’t have pulled the “We’re not doing kissing yet” line if it had been a hetero couple featured on the bag). But instead, she did what she did best in this town: said nothing and walked away. There was no helping these people. No “making them understand” the error of their “ideologies.” And there never had been.

Back in L.A. a few days later, the bag was met with its rightful and usual reaction: recognition and compliments from queens of all ages. Including ones who were “Timmy’s” age.