One of my friends dragged me off to a bar on Saturday afternoon. This was mostly because he had the hots for one of the waitresses.
Now this was not one of your quaint little designer bars where you drink flavoured bottled water and quirky little drinks with unpronounceable names with grimly nice people who avoid second hand smoke, who dress carefully and have the personalities of potted ficus trees.
This was a real bar. The kind of place substance abuse do-gooders would not like you to go to. They are a curious folk, these substance abuse do-gooders. Most of them will happilly gobble up Prozac and Lithium and other prescription drugs like a bunch of bulimics at an all-you-can-eat buffet, but they never abuse substances. They can’t wipe their arses without a mentor, sponsor and a support group present, but they worry about people in bars, which they suspect of drinking beer.
But I digress…
My first instinct was to hurry him along and get out of there… pronto. This was not one of those yuppy enterprises where you talk about your feelings or clinch a business deal. This was an old-fashioned bar, probably family-owned, and it had humanity. The air smelled of smoke. The women looked like women and the men… well, thy looked like men. There was no fancy schmancy drinks menu. You ordered what you know. It reminded me of the bar, back in Cape Town, my father took me to when he reckoned I was old enough to have my first beer. (Boy, was he wrong on that one!)
While my buddy was chatting to his girl, I had time to look around and watch the people as they came and went and how they relate. (We hung around for over an hour, so I had plenty of time, between pool games). I even struck up a conversation or two of the patrons. I was not hard to spot, since it seemed that most people either knew or were at least familiar with one another.
There was the older gentleman trying to impress the group of younger beauties at the next table, the young couple on a date, the martini-fuelled teary confessions and ensuing argument of the 30 something couple in the corner and the loner who initiated a conversation with anyone who dared to look in his direction. I watched as life’s little dramas, sometimes alcohol induced, yes, but often not, unfolded in front of my eyes. It’s charming. Here people do not hide behind their computers and cell phones and actually talked to each other face-to-face.
Just before we left, I caught the back-end of a conversation a young guy was having with a girl sitting at the bar. (What can I say, I eavesdropped)
“You know what they say about guys with big feet?” he said.
“They wear clown shoes and use tired old pick-up lines?” she shot back.
Ouch! I giggled to myself. I don’t know if I’ll have the opprtunity to go back there, but I certainly had a good time. Life’s like that. You just have be willing to step out of your comfort zone and experience it.
“the loner who initiated a conversation with anyone who dared to look in his direction”
That would be you, right?
Touché.
However, in my defence, let me say that although I may have been “alone”, I was not necessarily lonely.
Gee thanx Chitty – I enjoyed this post!! Well, I actually enjoy reading all your posts, but this one struck close to home. This is prolly the type of place you’ll find me playing pool at!!
Goodness – you are over visiting me while I am here visiting you!!!!!
Just tell me it really wasn’t YOU using the line about big feet! (My response is usually – “Yeah, they wear big shoes’.) Glad you went there, it helps to put a new spin on things, don’t you think?
Now that’s my kind of activity – people watching. That’s why I love New York where it is part of life to sit on a sidewalk cafe and watch life happen. Of course in Paris it is an art form.
But hey, I watch people where-ever I go, be it Hemisphere or News Cafe. It is half the fun of being in bars and clubs.
buddess: I can definately see the appeal of hanging out in a bar like the one I visited. Puts you in touch with the world again.
Lucy: I dont use cheesy one-liners like that on girls. Once you’ve used it, it is kinda difficult to decide where to go from there.
Saturday’s experience put things nicely into perspective and made me realise just how sheltered my life had become.
IITQ: The best bar I’ve been to was in Sao Paulo in Brazil. No pretence and fakery, just hanging with the locals and experiencing the culture.
I watch where I go too… but there has to be more to it than hanging with friends and consuming fancy high-priced drinks.
Perhaps I should start going to designer bars. I’m rather fond of potted ficus trees.
I like bars like that even though, like you, I tend to enter them with trepidation. They can be the friendliest places on earth. Yet, like the lone drinker, desperate for company, they can also be so lonely.
Being educated, relatively wealthy, middle-class, blah blah, it’s so easy to forget that such places exist. They have tended to retreat to the less salubrious parts of towns as places get gentrified and prices go up.
You’ll have to go again. Or, was that enough for the next 6 months?
Welcome to my world… pool, loners and bad pick-up lines? Sounds just like my pub!
Well yes, it is good to step out of our comfort zone. Even wearing clown shoes!
As Buddess mentioned, both her and I would be stepping out of our comfort zones if we went to a yuppy place. These kinds of bars are places where we hang out, probably because they are a dime a dozen here in the Eastern Cape. Yuppydom hasn’t hit the Eastern Cape yet.
Thanks Chitster, I could see what you saw just by reading your post.
PS: Consider yourself tagged! You will have to visit The Katt Box to find out more.
KN: Ever tried talking to one? They don’t do much besides shedding leaves.
Alan: I’ll go but only when I am with a group. I suspect one can get into trouble easily, especially when the local boys feel you are trespassing.
Jarvenpa: I wear clown shoes all the time. Not so sure it helps when you want to pick up a girl.
Del: All essential ingredients to a good English pub.
Btw… good luck with the opening.
Katt: I have noticed that about coastal resort towns. The tourists move in and the locals retreat.
Thanks for the tag. I will have to think on this one, so don’t expect anything soon.
Sportspeople are, are not our Rolemodels
My life’s been completely unremarkable recently. I haven’t been up to anything. I just don’t have much to say. I’ve just been letting everything pass me by. Shrug. I don’t care.