The couple of days right after vet school graduation were kind of insane. I was simultaneously trying to pack everything, turning in various important forms, getting the utilities turned on/off in the correct apartments, and meeting up with my buddies before we all left town.
One afternoon, I stopped by the vet school on an errand and tarried a while to use the free wifi (fun fact! I never set up wifi in my last apartment. Mostly because it was expensive and I spent most of my not-at-home hours in spaces with free internet). I settled on a couch at the end of a long hallway connecting the small animal hospital with the large animal one. It's a cheerful space, with a steady but not distracting stream of passers-by.
The door next to me opened and Dr. Quin emerged. Dr. Quin is a large animal surgeon. He is a suave, sarcastic man who constantly carries a mug of coffee. His ego is larger than the condom supply at a gay bath house.
He has a habit of looking up at his student in the middle of surgery and saying,
"So! Do you have a boyfriend? Or a girlfriend?"
He will then proceed to dispense romantic advice to said student.
Now, this never happened to me. I scrubbed in on one surgery with Dr. Quin during that rotation, and we somehow missed the topic. We've talked maybe eight or ten times in total, and always about veterinary subjects.
Also, I'm quite femme in manner and dress. Many a new friend or classmate has been surprised to discover that I'm into the ladies.
So, Dr. Quin, through the door. I glanced up at him. He paused next to me, fist-pumped, and said,
"Twelve states now!"
Oh my goodness. You guys, I cried. And holy shit, the Quinster's ninja gaydar skills blew my mind.