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I was on stage with half a dozen other grown men dressed as pirates performing a song and dance number that Liza Minnelli would be proud of. We were all employees at my work, but I didn’t recognize any of them at the time. I’m almost certain at least a few of them were executives and/or managers from outside offices that I have yet to meet. After a roaring applause and standing ovation, I left the auditorium to jump back into my street clothes. I arrived at a cafe soon after to find it infested with patrons that had just left the show. Amongst them, my onstage co-stars still dressed in buccaneer garb. I remember one having a peg leg, and another with a blue vest and fluffy yellow pirate hat. All but one was shorter than me. Another pirate (whom I recognized but will go unnamed) walked in and got into line in front of me. ”Ahoy matey!”, he said, as he apologized for not being able to make the performance. “How’s the ankle? Why are you no longer wearing your pirate gear?” I didn’t have an answer for him. I just wanted to get my food and go. It was a pretty gay dream.
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