These days in Europe, when you meet a stranger and let slip that you’re an American, you know beyond any doubt what the next question is going to be.
“Who did you vote for in the presidential election?” he asked. It was the other day, and I was in Amsterdam, and I had just sat down next to him at the bar and ordered a gin and tonic.
“Donald John Trump,” I said amiably.
“I’m impressed,” he said.
“When I ask other Americans that question, they get emotional. They act like I’ve attacked them. You’re the first who didn’t react like that.”
We were in a gay bar. “So are you talking about gay guys that you meet here?”
“And they voted for Trump?”
“Some of them. Not all. The Hillary voters are proud. The Trump voters….”
“Well, that’s understandable,” I said. “They’re used to being told that they voted for the incarnation of evil. I find it interesting that so many gay guys you meet did vote for Trump.”
“But of course he is bad for gays.”