The friendliest place on earth

There’s always something going on in Palm Springs. (Okay, maybe not right now, in the midst of a worldwide pandemic, but most of the time, you can find some sort of shenanigans to get into.) Evidence the evening shortly after we moved here, three years ago. We were staying in a hotel for a few weeks while we looked for somewhere to live, and frequently found ourselves strolling around downtown in the afternoons and evenings looking for something to do. We didn’t know anyone besides each other, so we’d pick one of the restaurants or bars downtown, sit at the bar and chat up the bartender and whomever might be sitting there. We’ve since learned that this is how it goes here . . . pretty much everyone is up for a chat pretty much all of the time. 

One such day, we went into one of the local bars for a libation (fair warning, a lot of my stories start this way). We sat inside because, being August, it was 110 degrees out. While we were ordering our drinks, we noticed a group of people further inside the place playing bingo. In true Palm Springs fashion, the bingo players invited us to join their game, which we did. (Some might assert that the friendliest place on Earth is Disney World, but I’ll argue till my dying breath that it’s here in Palm Springs). 

Everyone loves bingo, and here it’s a frequent pastime, with lots of local charities employing it as a fundraiser. We played a couple of rounds while sipping our cocktails and enjoyed the good-natured ribbing the other players were giving each other. While we sat there and played, we learned that it was charity bingo for the local gay rodeo. Because of course there’s a gay rodeo in Palm Springs. 

During a break in the action, one of the players got up and served dessert. And because it’s the friendliest place on Earth, he shared some with us. 

This seems like a good point to digress for just a moment and tell you about the myriad places where we have had free (and frequently homemade) food here in the valley. People here are so generous of spirit (and kitchen) that you might show up at the local watering hole one night for a cocktail and karaoke and end up with a fully catered Filipino buffet (true story). Another time, we stumbled upon a memorial reception in a different bar and were offered a variety of sandwiches, even though we didn’t know the person being memorialized (nor the maker of the sandwiches). There’s one bar that offers a free fried chicken mixer every Wednesday evening. Several places host potluck meals on various holidays. And there’s a bar that offers doughnuts every Sunday morning for the day drinkers (they also had a bloody mary one day last summer--I think it was Memorial Day -- that came with a hotdog, chicken wing, and bacon, atop a skewer with the usual accoutrements of celery stalk and olive...I think there might’ve been a pickle and a carrot in there somewhere, too). It’s not uncommon to go to happy hour and find pizza or cake or some other snack for a celebration, or just because the bar owner or bartenders or random bar patron felt like treating everyone that day. 

Anyway, back to bingo. The dessert baker introduced himself, and encouraged us to come play again next week. We said we would and went on our way. The next Monday, again with nothing special to do, we decided a bingo night might be a nice diversion from our usual wandering, and went back for round two. Again, we sat at the bar and ordered our drinks and settled in to play. That’s when the dessert guy from the week before, Glen, came over and invited us to come sit at his table. And that’s how we met our surrogate family. We sat that night and every night for weeks with Glen, as well as Thommy, and Michael, who were as kind and gracious as anyone you might imagine from a feel-good sitcom (or Palm Springs). From there, we got invited to dinners and parties and fundraisers. I think we went to two or three Halloween parties that year. We were invited to march in the Pride parade (which had long been a D.C. dream of mine, unrealized). I was even treated to a surprise birthday dinner with the boys. We had been adopted. (Thommy, affectionately calls us “the kids” and refers to my husband as “little brother”.)

When we moved to Palm Springs, we knew not a soul besides each other. Within weeks, we had friends. By Thanksgiving, we were family. We owe it all to Glen, who, we’ve come to learn, is always happy to share his dessert and his table.