So I’ve been charged with setting up my department’s holiday party. Whoopee. As you all know, it’s well nigh impossible to make everybody happy so I simplified my strategy and just decided to make myself happy. That is, I picked a place my wife and I liked.
One of the managers was showing me the set-up (a teachers’ holiday party was about to start) so I left my keys, glasses and drinking money at the bar. When I returned, some dude had settled into the stool next to mine. I eyed him warily but once I was satisfied my drinking money was still there (I’m kinda hoping someone steals my car), we began some chit chat as bar flies are wont to do.
He was older and seemed a tad out of place. Though all walks are welcome, Public House 49 seems to draw a younger, hipper crowd and guys like this are more commonly seen at Reese’s 1900 (an old-school, old man’s bar) or possibly one of the local shit-kicker joints. You know the kind. Theyre without windows and a couple of motorcycles are parked out front. But I digress.
I wondered why he liked this place until we got to chatting and he commented on the apparent hotness of our Korean bartender. She was, indeed, hot, as all female bartenders should be, and kind of reminded me of Sandra Oh’s character in Sideways. As our conversation progressed, it became apparent that he selected this bar because he has a thing for Asian chicks. Being from the Philippines, I was concerned that he might be sizing me up for a school girl outfit. But, to my relief, the conversation stayed focused on women. My office party paperwork signed and wing-order to-go ready, I bade him good night and made my way home where I was quick to take a scalding hot shower.
Another time I was at The Brick House, a place perhaps more likely to have a patron from my previous tale. Here, I noticed that the guy next to me had a small, chess book in hand. Being a geek and somewhat of a chess aficionado myself, I struck up a conversation. As it turned out, the guy was getting into chess to honor the memory of his brother, an avid chess player, who had recently passed away. Despite the sad underpinnings, the conversation was edifying.
We swapped stories, geekily recounted good and bad moves, and shared resources (I told him about chess.com and redhotpawn.com where I usually play and am always up for a challenge).
The point of these tales is that, when you belly up to the bar, you never know who you’re going to meet.
Beer is a social lubricant (much as I hate that term) and people who gravitate towards to bar (rather than the bar tables or dining room) are a breed that are, shall we say, pre-lubricated. We are a gregarious lot and are apt to talk to anyone about anything. I know mom and dad always warned about talking to strangers but you should throw this caution to the wind if you’re sitting on a stool. And, as a corollary, if you’re not into talking to random folks, you shouldn’t sit at the bar in the first place.
It’s like going to the movies; you sacrifice the sanctity of your own home, the comfort and quiet, for the experience of the big screen and sharing the oohs, ahhs, gasps, and screams of fellow movie-goers. And, unfortunately, this also means to sometimes have to tolerate the talking and someone kicking the back of your chair. You take the bad with the good because you’re there for the experience. The same applies to sitting at the bar.
By doing so, you make yourself fair game to the jovial nudges and nods that make bar people what they are. And, like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates, you never really know what you’re going to get. You may find a kindred spirit, someone to root with while watching the game or you might get that creepy guy who can’t help but keep talking about his fetishes.
When you sit at the bar, you accept that risk. But if you’re unlucky and you get that creepy dude, it’s OK. You’re at the bar anyway. Order a bunch of beers and get your wings to go.
Cheers!
BJ Gamboa
Lawn Guyland, NY
Twitter: @echoguy
