Inside The Commodore Hotel: Secrets So Wild, Even the Stars Are Gossiping About Them!
Added on July 8, 2025 inASTROLOGY CARDS
Popular
Numerology Meets Netflix: Get Your Daily Dose of Cosmic Cinema Suggestions Powered By Our AI Astrologer. Find The Show Or Movie You Were Meant To See!
Then Join Our FREE Newsletter To Watch Your Choice Of Movies And Shows For FREE Plus Get The Latest Entertainment News And Updates!
Ever wonder what it’s like to walk into a breakfast shift and find yourself smack dab in the middle of an all-gay waitstaff, peppered with just a few token gals trying to hold down the fort? Well, buckle up, because this isn’t your average dining room tale. Back in the early 1980s—a time just before the AIDS epidemic shifted the world’s focus—Ben and I crossed paths in a swanky hotel restaurant that was more like a circus of characters than your typical eatery. Seventeen flamboyant men, three ever-so-essential women, and a whole lot of backstage drama made our days—and nights—anything but dull.
Now, here’s where astrology might have a chuckle: working in a place where everyone but you seems to run on pure Scorpio intensity and unpredictability, isn’t that a bit like trying to mix oil and water in a cosmic cocktail? But somehow, the stars aligned, and Ben showed up like a supernova, shaking things up among our quirky pack. There’s a whole lot of sass, sparkle, and showdown in this story that’s as much about friendship as it is about surviving a turbulent era.
Ready to dive into the unfiltered dialogue and unforgettable moments from a time when being a “decoy” waitress had its own kind of charm? Let’s just say, it’s a story that’s too real and too funny to pass up.
This is the story of when I met, Ben. I wrote this in 2001, when PC wasn’t a thing. I’m going to leave it as is, because these are real people and their real dialogue.
These events took place in early 1980’s right before AIDS hit the news.. meaning, this is where I worked, when AIDS exploded.
Ben and I met while working in a restaurant in a upscale hotel. It was remarkable on several fronts, most notable being the wait staff. It was comprised of seventeen gay men and three women tossed in the mix as decoys. The women were hired as tokens, to work breakfast and lunch. They didn’t bother with this beard thing in the evening. Something about a gay waiter being an asset at dinner. I was one of the women.
“Patty Roundheels” was another. “Round heels” as in “goes down easy”, and her legs fly up in the air! She was an older woman, maybe sixty. She didn’t necessarily earn her name. We called her this out of pure love and adoration. The cheesy old joke, “Patty’s like butter, she’s easy to spread” was tossed around a lot. She liked her press. She got a real zing out of everyone and everything.
Patty was a ridiculously competent waitress. One hundred fifteen pounds of bawdy chick, dirty mind, lightning fast with the quips, FUNNY, magic to work with, and married thirty years to a rich man she called “the old bastard.” She had no need to work, but this was a freakishly fun job.
Here’s Patty’s voice:
“You’re all a bunch of assholes. No pun, boys. Especially the ones of you who really are assholes, but it’s either this or be around the old bastard all day, so here I am, and you’re all lucky by the way. There is so much sex in here, even I could go home pregnant! I don’t know how I stand it, this will probably be my last day.”
Waitressing was in her blood. Patty embodied everything I love about the job. I would come to work anxious to see her each day. She was a young, old person who I loved and respected.
I knew in real time, I was living part of something extraordinary in this place. I wouldn’t dream of missing a day of work. Waaay to much fun, plus they’d talk about you. It was best to show up to keep up. I would note my days off on the schedule with a tinge of regret, even. You knew you’d miss out, and no telling on what. My supreme hope was that the coolest of the cool would be off work same day I was. Eventually we would orchestrate it this way.
Mary Jane was in her late twenties. She was strung out on various drugs and shacked up with this really good-looking loser guy who she supported. She was a homophobic that homosexuals adored anyway, just because. She was a Scorpio with a legendary attitude… and mouth!
She was hooked up with a guy we called Tall, Dark and Stupid, whom she supported. We teased her without mercy about having to “pay for it”. If this sounds bad, it was actually funny as hell.
Mary Jane made fine and hilarious art of brooding, which she supplemented with an endless supply of droll comments delivered s-l-o-w. No one talks this slow in real life. Dilaudid?
“Yes I know he is a son of a bitch.” pause
“I live with him, remember?” Sneer
“Who would know if my boyfriend is a son of a bitch?”
She pauses and raises her hand. “Me?”
“I’m going to get rid of him as soon as I get out of this stupor.” yawn
“I’m a little tired to throw his ass out today. But don’t any of you worry about it.” Yawwwwn.
“I’ll get on it this weekend ya’ll.” Big yawwwwwn.
Chronic fatigue aside, she was another competent waitress with extreme appeal to the customers. There was something about her. I think it was sexual. She had one of those voices. Yeah, I have one too, but we were different. I have a perennial grin, where as she would talk out of the side of her mouth. Real intimate. One eyebrow up, like she was letting you in on something kinda private.
She had a daily ritual with me. After lunch rush she would drape her arm over my shoulders and say low and droll and SLOW.. “Elsa. Lunch is done. We survived another. Let’s smoke.”
We’d go the back of the place to sit at the break table (pictured). She’d put her feet up, light a cigarette, inhale deeply and say “Okay. Who did you go out with last night? Tell me. C’mon. Tell me.” She’d be motioning with her hand. “Out with it. I need details. You’re the only one who gets laid around here, the regular way. I want to hear about it!”
I was dating like sport at the time, and would tell her my latest exploit. She’d laugh, in a big guffaw way. Anyone who walked by the table, she’d invite to join us, but she could not be bothered to remember people’s names.
“What difference does it make, Elsa? They’re all gay. What good are they gonna do us?” She snortled, which was a thing with her. “You!” she’d yell at a random waiter. “C’mon. Sit down. We’re hearing about Elsa’s date last night. You don’t want to miss this. It is the only reason I come to this stupid place.” Yaawwwwwn.
The Commodore was a large hotel. The General Manager was gay and he dictated that the gal who did the interviewing hire gay men. The men called her, “Den Mother, considering themselves to be a pack of wolves. The women called her by her name.
We, the women, were a necessity to her, and not much more. She was fond of the boys. A woman like this used to be called a “fag hag.” I don’t know if that term is dated. She was highly skittish and eccentric. She was always clucking and primping and obsessing over her flock. Standing next to her while this went on was a little like living in the middle of an art house film.
She looked like Miss Frizzle. She was such a character, I sometimes marveled, I could see her in 3-D.
Ben was hired on sight. There was an ad in the paper. He showed up to find at least 200 men in a line waiting to apply. Maybe 300! He decided to stand in it anyway. The General Manager of the hotel walked by, looked him up and down and then took him to the front of the line, telling, Den Mother, to give him the job and send everyone else home.
As it turned out, Ben and I started work within two or three days of each other, but I never saw a line. I was told that jobs at this hotel were sought after, but I walked right in to be interviewed by, Den Mother.
“Do you have a problem with homosexuality?” she asked.
“No, I don’t.” I said.
“Are you sure?”
I was sure, so I was hired after being made fully aware that pretty much everyone who worked in the restaurant was gay.
I was amused at this. I was and I still am, trying to live an enhanced life. I considered this a bonus. It made no difference to me what the distinction was. If I would have been told that everyone was eighty years old, or Japanese, or Buddhist. It would have been the same thing to me. Interesting!
I was coming out of an intense period of grief following a death in the family so the prospect of the distraction from the unusual circumstance was perfect. I was anxious to go to work. I was taking a cut in pay, but I was weary from the bar business and happy with the idea of working breakfast / lunch because of the low incidence of drinking.
Watching people drink their life down is depressing after awhile. With my mood already low from this personal crisis, I needed an escape. I was thinking, eggs, sunny side up was just the ticket. I love waiting tables, particularly when the pace is brisk, which is what you find at breakfast. As always, I want to m-o-v-e.
As it turned out, this job would mark a turning point in my life, and same thing for, Ben. Neither of us have worked in a restaurant since. We both showed up at the Commodore struggling to find our way on the other side of a major life injury. We collided and became unexpected friends, irrevocably changing the direction of our lives, swiftly.
I had fun from day one. I loved working the gay men. It was an ideal situation for someone like me, always looking to expand. This was a great situation because I could work with people vastly different than me, but go home each night to my regular life.
It was interesting to me, sociologically. Heterosexuals were the profound minority at the Commodore Hotel. Homosexuality was the preferred thing. It was extremely favored. It was eye-opening to have the tables turned where I was one of the “outsiders”. It was the heterosexual that had to worry about being compelling enough, that someone in the majority would find worth in interacting with them.
The men had the opposite experience. They would leave work end of the day, to go out and face reality, having to cope with the hostile world. The opportunity to expand my scope by living in the middle of something like this was prized and appreciated.
Ben and I did not collide for more than a week, but boy did I hear about him. He hit this place like a truck. I couldn’t get details. “Just wait’ll you meet him. You’ll see”. He inspired a wide range of passionate responses. “He’s a bastard, I think they should fire him” to “Damn! I was hoping Ben would be working today.”
Patty Roundheels on Ben: “This place is ten times the fun since he got here. I would marry him if I wasn’t already signed on with the old bastard.”
Mary Jane on Ben: “Ben? What’s he like? WEllllllll….” she pauses. “He’s gay. You can’t date him, Elsa. Sorry about that.” Yawwwn “Tell ya what. I’ll introduce you. ‘Cause I like you. Elsa meet Ben. Ben meet Elsa. But really….” she paused to think for awhile. “He’s another fag,” she said. “I know. I know. We need another fag around here like we need holes in our head. I will introduce you to, Ben. I like him. Look around. Listen,” she said, taking a deep drag on her cigarette. “Do you see how all these fags are running around all hyper? Ben did that to them and…” She inhales. “We can watch, and I think that’s a good thing. I’m all for entertainment, Elsa. I can see that you are the same as me.” She blinked a few time and kind of nodded off for a second.
“Let’s check the schedule. C’mon. We’ll look together,” she said. She points to the paper schedule, taped to the wall. “Tuesday, he’ll be here… and you’ll be here… and I will introduce you.” She inhaled, deeply. “Then you and I can watch him get all these fags going. And we will laugh. Because fags are funny when they’re all wound up. We may as well get something from them you know? Just make sure I make the introduction, okay? When you two meet, I want to be there. That’s definitely something I don’t want to miss.”
“Yeah? How come?” I asked.
“How come? Well lets go smoke and I’ll tell ya.” We head to the break table in the back. “See, you and him. Bennnnn-jamin. You are like two chemicals and you know what chemicals do,” she said.
“What?” I asked.
She snortled. “Listen to you. I really like you, Elsa. You like to fuck with me, don’t you? Well you just go right ahead, ” she said, taking a drag on her cig. “Chemicals react, Elsa. When you put them together, there’s a reaction. Now. You and Bennnnn-jamin are some potent shit, and I just want to see the two of you meet.”
I laughed. “Really?”
“Really, Elsa. Really. You know how nosy I am. You know how I watch shit. I want to see what happens when you. And, him. Meet. Because something will happen and I want to see it. Are you two going to be oil and water, or oil and oil?” she asked.
“You think we won’t get along?”
“I didn’t say that. Even if I thought that, I wouldn’t tell you.” She snortled and I chuckled. She hit me on the the arm. “I’m just fuckin’ with you. It’s payback. Look. I like him and I bet you will too. Yep. I do like the son-of-a-bitch, even though he’s a fag, and you know I hate all these fags,” she said, waving her arms around, over her head, to make sure I knew she meant, allllll of them. I laughed.
“They like you, though.” I said.
“I know. I know that, Elsa. It must be my fuckin’ charisma or something, because I sure as hell don’t like them. You know me. I can’t stand them. I hate everybody, but it’s still all I can do to come here every day and see all these fags. Do you know how hard it is?”
“How hard?”
“Is that a joke?”
“Of course.”
“It’s hard, Elsa. Real hard, but yeah, I think you two should get along. He’s a lot like you. Well… except he’s not.” She stops to think. “Do you know why that is? Do you know why he is not like you?”
I laugh. “Why?”
“Because he is a fag, goddamnit!” She turned and yelled this into the kitchen, so everyone would hear her. The gay waiters all turn and react. Some with rude gestures, others blow kisses.
“Look at these fuckers. Look what they do. And they can get away with it too. Let’s face it. What is there? Seventeen of them? There is seventeen fags that work here and three of us normal people.”
I laughed. “Oh God, Mary Jane. Fags are as normal as we are. What the hell is the matter with you?”
“I know, Elsa. I know I’m fucked up. And you? Well I don’t have a word for you yet, but I will. I’m working on it. Do you believe me?”
I laughed. “I do. I do believe you, Mary Jane.” She chortled and I laughed like hell.
“Just look around, here.” She took a deep drag from her cigarette. “Do you see how all these fags are running around hyper? They’re all jazzed, aren’t they? Do you see that it’s like their heads are cut off or something?” I laughed.
“Not those heads! You have such a dirty mind.” I laughed some more.
“Elsa! Look at me. Straighten up! We’re talkin’ about the fags, now. I’m serious. Would you just get serious with me for a minute? I want you to look around. See how excited they are?”
I nodded. “I see, I see.” I didn’t really see, because I’d worked there for four days, but you know. She wanted me to nod so she could keep talking so I did.
“Yeah. Because if you were one of them then, Den Mother, might like you a little better than she does. Because she doesn’t like you very much, have you noticed?”
“No. No, I didn’t know that.”
“Yup. I see her staring at you. You want to know her problem with you?”
“What?”
“You’re happy. That’s it. You are just way too fucking happy. Way. Too. Fucking. Happy.”
I laugh.
“Laugh if you want, but I am right about this. Did you ever look at her? Probably not. She’s not your taste, is she? She’s not a man.’ She snickers. “Hell, I am not a man, so should probably consider myself lucky you’re talking to me.”
I laugh. “It’s not that bad.”
She squints at me, because it is that bad. “See, Elsa. Next time she’s in here, check her out and ask yourself. Is she happy? She’s not. I’m not happy either, so she likes me just fine, but you? Well you’re happy, and so you know what that means.”
“What?”
“What else? She hates you!”
“Whaaat?”
She puts her arm around me. “Listen to me, Elsa. She hates you. She haaaaaates you.”
“Really? You’re kidding, me.” I laugh because she’s funny, but I had no idea. I hadn’t even worked there a week!
“Nope. I’ve heard her telling the fags. Do you know what she says about you?”
“What?”
“She says, who does she think she is?”
“You’re kidding!?”
“Elsa. I don’t kid, okay? And you know what else? They say the same thing back to her, except they’re talking about Ben! They say, who does he think he is?”
“Really?”
“Really. So you know what that means.”
“What?”
“What? It means that you two have to meet, and I have to be there.”
“Yeah?” I laugh.
“And Elsa, don’t worry about Den Mother. She does hate you, but don’t worry about it. I don’t want you distracted from your main thing.”
“Meeting, Ben?”
“Right. She hates you plenty, but she’s not going to do anything about it. There’s nothing she can do. They need at least three waitresses to cover for all these fags in here and we’ve had three or four in your job. You’re the first one who has shown up, knowing her ass from a hole in the ground. Besides that, Rusty (the headwaiter) likes you and she’d never cross him. Not her precious, Rusty.”
“See, Elsa, that’s who is really running this place, anyway. I wouldn’t worry. She’ll just have to hate you from afar. Let her! Because do you really want to know what’s going on?”
“What?”
“Ben is moving in on, Rusty’s turf.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. That’s where the action is. Rusty thought Ben was gonna be another fag, come to join the pack but Ben isn’t having any of it.”
“No?”
“No! And he told Rusty to kiss his ass.”
“Yeah?”
She reaches back and smacks her ass. “And he did that too! He did that to Rusty and you should have seen it. Rusty’s eyes got all big. How dare anyone have the nerve to speak to Rusty like that. It was funny. See what you’ve been missing? But don’t worry. Auntie Mary Jane will fill you in.”
I laugh. And…?”
“And? Well that’s what they all want to do.”
“Kiss his ass?”
“Right! And Rusty. Well, he’s the queen of the queens. He likes being the belle of the ball, so you can see what is going on.”
-snip-
“…fight. Now why didn’t I think of that?”
“Because you’re high?” I said.
“Right! How did you know?”
I don’t answer that.
“Anyway, back to more entertaining topics. Tuesday, you can meet, Ben, and we can watch him get all these fags going. And…” She pauses. “We will laugh. Because these boys are funny when they’re all wound up, and we may as well get something out of this.”
“Right. Because it’s not like they’re gonna put out, huh Mary Jane?”
She chuckles, snorts and snortles. “See why I like you? They’re not going to put out.” More chuckling. I think she’s pretty loaded.
“Well, you’re right about that, aren’t you? These boys aren’t going to do one damned thing for us. Oh. Maybe they can help up pick some curtains out, but that’s about it. Hey. Are you a Scorpio?”
“No.”
“Oh, of course not. You’re way too happy.”
To be continued.
Pictured: The blonde in front was a busgirl. The man is a the dishwasher; they’re on break after lunch. The older woman is, Patty Roundheels. “Mary Jane” is the brunette and that’s our beloved break table. Patty is wearing cowboy hat, because we were in Arizona and it was Rodeo Week. I brought my camera to take everyone’s picture in their “western wear”.
Auto Amazon Links: No products found.
){kind=link}