Why don't you say it to my face?

My last post caused a bit of controversy among my commenters. I shall address this indirectly by relaying a real-life anecdote:

Last Saturday night, as I mentioned before, I went to a lesbian club for the very first time. I was staying with some friends in Northern Virginia, so I had to ride the Metro into DC. On the train, I was seated near a group of 4 or 5 young men who were probably in their mid-twenties. For the most part, I just tuned out their over-loud banter about bars and parties and chicks they'd banged. But then the subject segued into more personal territory. One of the guys brought up a girl he'd dated who wouldn't "put out." His friend offered him consolation: "Dude, she's such a fucking dyke. Don't worry about it." This sparked an extensive conversation about the hotness of lesbian sex.

I sat there, a few seats away, and I found myself fighting back tears. Whether they were tears of anger, pain, or frustration, I couldn't tell you, but anyone who knows me even a little bit knows that I'm not a crier, regardless of the emotion associated with the tears. So the fact that I let these meatheads catch me off guard really pissed me off. There I was, minding my own business, fidgeting nervously, excited about my first trip to the gay club, when I was suddenly and harshly brought out of my happy little bubble, forced to reconcile my own self-image with the stereotypes that were being tossed about the train with such utter disregard. Did they not see me? Did it not cross their minds that I might be gay? Did they even care? How could they, in the same breath, speak with derision about "fucking dykes" and then extol the erotic value of those same women?

They exited the train a few stops before I got off, and for the duration of my ride, I kicked myself for not having spoken up. Why didn't I defend myself? Put them in their places? But deep down, I knew that nothing I could have said would have made a bit of difference. I felt so helpless and vulnerable and, yes, angry. But I figured the closest thing to "winning" would be to put it out of my mind and enjoy my evening, which is exactly what I did. I got off that train, followed the trail of women wearing guys' pants through the Metro station (good rule of thumb: when in doubt, follow the lesbians), and met up with my new friends at the club. We danced and drank and got to know each other and had an all-around good time. Not bad for a couple of fucking dykes.