Why, oh why, didn’t I study Spanish in high school?
In 1995, I was going out on the street with a new minister, and we were checking out the 611 Tavern. It was what we called a “mixed” bar, meaning it welcomed both gay and straight drinkers. Beer, wine, pool tables, pull tabs, and dark inside. It’s long gone. My buddy and I were soon being harassed by an agitated and very drunk Hispanic guy. I’m not sure if he was mad because a couple of priests were in the…