Please note that since writing this blog post, Getto has closed down
Last night I met my first drag queen. Well, this being Amsterdam, I’ve encountered a few drag queens. But it was the first time we’d – you know – sat down and had a chat. I was in Getto: a grungy-on-the-outside, funky-on-the-inside, cocktail-cum-burger bar that’s slap bang in the middle of sex-shopping central. We’d worked our way through a couple of feisty cocktails when I was introduced to Dottie, the fine lady who would be singing for us later. Little did I know what a social minefield this would turn out to be.
Rule #1 of encounters with drag queens: never, ever blow their cover. ‘Nice to meet you,’ I said breezily; ‘we’re doing a cookery workshop together next month, right?’ ‘No my dear, that’ll be my nephew… he’s terribly interested in cooking.’ ‘Your nephew? Oh right, but I thought…’ I trailed off as our mutual friend and workshop chef metaphorically kicked me under the table.
Thinking I’d impress her/him with my research about the drag schedule, as published on Dottie’s blog, I changed tack: ‘So your next performance is called Amen, at the Church, right? Can we come?’ ‘No my dear, it’s only for men who are HIV positive… and I doubt you fall into that category darling?’
