About Ken Goodman
Ken Goodman is a maintenance man with a toolbox in one hand and a deep, dark secret in the other — except the secret isn't dark, it's just that he's very, very gay. Ken spends his weekdays fixing leaky pipes, unclogging questionable drains, and pretending the rainbow keychain on his belt loop is "just a gift."
By night, however, he transforms into a completely different creature: the anonymous legend of every gay bar within 30 miles. He enters the clubs like a DIY superhero — no cape, just a crisp tucked-in work shirt and the confidence of a man who definitely shouldn't be wearing steel-toe boots on a dance floor.
Ken insists he's "not out like that," but somehow everyone in the community knows him by his nickname: "Mr. Maintenance." He claims it's because he fixes things, but the truth is… well, that's between Ken and the espresso-martini guy at the bar.
His eternal frenemy and chaotic sidekick is simply known as C — a loud-mouthed menace who pops up at all the wrong (or right) times. C's life mission is to expose Ken with dramatic flair, accidental slips, and comments like, "Ken, sweetie, you were voguing in the plumbing aisle at Home Depot."
The two bicker, tease, and roast each other constantly, but it's all in good fun — or at least fun for C. Ken mostly just sighs loudly and denies everything while ordering another drink.
Together, Ken and C are the sitcom duo nobody asked for, but everyone desperately enjoys watching.
Okay. Deep breath. I need to document this before C does it for me on every social media platform known to mankind.
I won first place in the Non-Trans Feminine Impersonation competition at Rick's bar tonight.
Let me be VERY clear: I did not sign up. I did not volunteer. I was simply standing near the stage holding a drink when C grabbed the microphone and announced "AND OUR NEXT CONTESTANT, GIVING US BLUE-COLLAR REALNESS, IT'S KEN 'MR. MAINTENANCE' GOODMAN!"
I was physically pushed onto the stage. By multiple people. There was a wig involved. I don't know where it came from. It just appeared on my head.
I performed to "9 to 5" by Dolly Parton. Except I changed the lyrics to be about fixing toilets. The crowd went INSANE. Someone threw a wrench onstage. I caught it. Used it as a prop. Got a standing ovation.
The prize was a sash, a tiara, and a $100 bar tab.
C is framing the photos. Plural. He's making a collage. For his living room.
I'm wearing the sash to work tomorrow. Not because I'm proud. But because C bet me $50 I wouldn't.
I'm keeping the tiara though. It's actually pretty nice. Goes great with my tool belt.
(Rick asked if I'm competing in the regional competition next month. I said no. C already signed me up. I hate it here.)
So apparently Rick down the street owns a gay bar. Who knew? (Literally everyone. Everyone knew. I'm the last person to find out, as usual.)
Went there tonight because C kept texting me "THURSDAY IS YOUR NIGHT, MR. MAINTENANCE 👀💅" and I didn't know what that meant until I walked in and the bartender yelled "KEN! Your usual espresso martini?"
I've never been there before. I don't have a usual. But I said yes anyway because saying no felt like admitting something.
Spent three hours pretending I was just there to "check the plumbing" even though nobody asked. At one point I literally inspected a bathroom sink that was working perfectly fine. The guy washing his hands just stared at me.
C showed up at 11 PM, pointed at me on the dance floor, and screamed "THAT'S NOT FIXING ANYTHING, KENNETH."
I'm never going back. (Same time next Thursday.)
C signed me up for a charity beauty pageant. Without telling me. I found out when I got a confirmation email that started with "Congratulations, Ken! We're thrilled you'll be competing in Mr. Local Pride 2025!"
I called C immediately. He answered with "You're WELCOME" before I could even speak.
Long story short: I competed. Wore my work boots with a borrowed blazer. Did the talent portion by demonstrating how to fix a garbage disposal in under 90 seconds. The judges were confused. The audience loved it. I got third place.
The guy who won did an interpretive dance about "breaking free from heteronormative chains." I fixed a sink.
C took 400 photos. Posted them all. Tagged me in every single one. My boss saw them. Now everyone at work knows.
The rainbow keychain was NOT just a gift, apparently. That lie lasted seven years. Thanks, C.
On the bright side: I won a gift card to Home Depot. So really, who's the real winner here?
(C keeps texting me asking when I'm going to use my "15 minutes of fame." I'm blocking his number. Again.)