the bar was relatively empty, it was after all early evening. a few stools were taken by women paired off, dressed in their professional garb, noses newly powdered, backs straight and merlot in front of them, air of expectation surrounding them. i said a quiet prayer of thanks that i actually dressed up that day, donning heels and look! i even combed my hair. the bartender smiled at me, offering me a complete list of their drink specials, but i assured her that i would get a drink when the rest of my party came shortly.

except shortly was actually an hour (i hate when ppl are late or in this case, when i read an email incorrectly & arrive for dinner too early) and i ended up downing two glasses of wine – alone. look, i don’t mind doing things in public alone. i go to movies by my lonesome often, i’ve eaten at restaurants with the company of just a book before and lord have mercy, i can now add sit at a bar for an hour by myself to that list.

i rebuffed the advances of an older gentleman, i caught up on an ebook on my phone and i think i spaced out for about 20 minutes as i mentally prepared for the holiday bustle that’s about to occur in a few weeks. when my friends did show up i was prepared for the interaction, because after all, i’d had an hour to decompress from the work day and to judge observe my surroundings.

as we sat at the table, scanning the menu the waiter came by to take the drink order. except he started with me and before i could order another glass of wine he quipped that i’d probably already had enough from having sat at the bar for an hour and the rest of my party had some catching up to do.

holy call out batman. i mean, really?

just that simple statement started the avalanche of comments from my peers: they couldn’t believe i had actually sat at the bar by myself, they would’ve gone to sit in their car, was i ok?

sigh. frankly, it never crossed my mind to go sit in my car and to walk around for an hour? it was too cold and the heels, people! my feet would’ve hurt and hobbling is not my favorite strut. i mean, it wasn’t fun waiting around & i wouldn’t want to do it again (specifically, at that particular bar…) but i made the most of that crummy situation. so the lesson that i learned that night? other than reading emails properly and making better note of timing? that maybe i should’ve allowed that older guy buy me a drink & chat me up so i wouldn’t look like such a fucking loser for sitting by myself at the bar.

no. i’d rather face a lifetime of alone time at bars than to do such a thing.


One response to “One

  1. Pingback: kicks | Some Mad Hope

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