A View from the Sidelines

I wonder if I could invent a career of sports casting the bar scene. While sitting unobtrusively in an alcove, I would give play-by-play accounts of the various dramas, peppering my commentary with witty insights into events. What do you think? Is there a niche for this? All I know is that it would be a blast.

Saturday night. The scene is Bojangle’s, a favorite neighborhood bar newly re-opened. Partners in crime include the ready-for-anything Rachel* and my never-meets-a-stranger sister. We arrive around 8:30pm. The place is full but not yet packed. A band is prepping. We easily find a bar table with a view of the stage. Our table is next to the rail that surrounds an elevated bar. It’s an easy-going night, for us anyway. We enjoy comfortably sporadic conversation while observing the surroundings, noting the new tables and chairs, trying to remember if the painted concrete floor had formerly been tiled. I notice a scene playing out at the rail by our table. Patrons standing by the rail easily forget how close they are to the tables below and mistakenly feel a sense of privacy. A handsome, dimple cheeked young man wearing a knit cap is flirting with a pretty young woman in jeans and a button down shirt. She is flirting in kind. Both are clearly intoxicated and looking for a hook-up. In dance-like movements they move closer only to separate and move closer again. Her hand rests on his wrist, inviting him to touch her in return. Not garnering the response she wants, she moves in even closer and escalates to running her hand across his chest. I can barely stifle a guffaw. I look to share this with my sister, but she is already transfixed by the show. I’m facing the couple’s profiles. Blatantly watching them in such close proximity becomes uncomfortable, so I settle for quick glances.

After a distracting conversation with Rachel, Sis fills me in on the couple’s progress. Dimples apparently backed off from Button Down causing her to seek comfort from his buddy, an older, attractive man wearing a t-shirt. T-shirt was previously in conversation with a girl in a halter top and jacket, who then appeared peeved by his redirected attention. We spend many minutes trying to determine if Dimples and Button Down know each other or have just met. Dimples returns from the bar and resumes flirting. Sis notes that T-shirt doesn’t enjoy Halter Top’s attention. The band kicks in. Dimples leads Button Down off of the platform, and T-shirt follows. Halter top, apparently caught off guard by his departure, yells “Hey!” and follows. In front of the band, the foursome dance in couples. I ask Sis if we should bet on how long it takes the young couple to start making out. They appear to be on the verge of it several times. The other two aren’t doing so well. Halter Top does her best to be seductive, pulling her jacket back to reveal white shoulders, eventually removing it. She provocatively rotates her hips. When all else fails, she resorts to groping her own breasts.

This is where I begin my commentary of the night, explaining to Sis that T-shirt is the wingman, sacrificing himself so his buddy can get the pretty girl. He indulges Halter Top as little as possible, but cannot reject her outright for the sake of the team. Halter Top isn’t bad looking, but had fallen into the unfortunate role of “the ugly friend.” Any physical attributes were undermined by her air of desperation. Meanwhile, the other couple dances intimately until Dimples takes a seat at the dance floor’s edge.

“Watch. She’ll sit in his lap shortly,” I predict. “Watch…. Watch… there she goes…. Woops, not quite… now… now… there she goes. Ah, there it is!”

Halter top tears herself away to make a request of the band. T-shirt takes this opportunity to approach the other couple. I offer my take on their interaction.

“T-shirt is telling Dimples that he can’t take it anymore. He tried being the wingman, but this woman is getting on his nerves. He’s sorry, but he needs to get away from her. Dimples tells him that it’s ‘okay, man.’ He’ll take care of it. They’ll get her off of him, just don’t leave.” Dimples heads toward the bar, so T-shirt talks to Button Down. “He’s telling her how sorry he is, but Halter Top came on too strong. She says it’s okay. She understands. He’s telling her what Halter Top did to make him reach his limit. She laughs because she knows what he’s talking about. Their gestures indicate that they see eye to eye.” His mood is lightened. They walk toward the bar to join Dimples, leaving Halter Top to dance by herself. Rachel and I duck our heads to appear oblivious, but my sister … she blatantly watches them walk toward us. She speaks briefly to T-shirt.

“Looks like y’all are having fun,” she says. T-shirt rolls his eyes and makes a comment about how it could be better. They move on to the bar. After a few minutes we notice them leave without Halter Top. Rachel thinks she saw her leave with a group from another section of the bar.

There’s a story every night we go out. There was the night at T.P. Crockmier’s during the Christmas season. The place was packed with parties. Our table had a spare chair that was often requested, but never taken because there was no room for it anywhere else. Eventually a handsome man asked if he could sit. He was part of a group at the next table, but couldn’t squeeze in with them. He was there with his wife and her friends … well, his ex-wife, he qualifies, but Rachel doesn’t hear. Before he sat with us, we had pointed him out to each other. He wore no ring. She began chatting with him out of friendliness. I managed to warn her about the wife at the next table, but we remained friendly with the guy. Shortly, his wife, or ex-wife, or soon to be ex-wife comes by our table and screams at Rachel, “If you want him, you can have him!” Rachel was flabbergasted. We were all speechless. His wife and her group left. We urged him to go with her, but he refused, remaining at our table all night. He alluded to getting a ride to Pensacola with my sister, which she ignored. He played the pity card, saying he would have to walk home. We told him to get a taxi. We offered to call one for him. Last we saw of him, he was walking out of the bar and into the night.

A few weeks later, again at TP’s, I catch the eye of an attractive man across the bar. Rachel mentions him a few minutes later, but he’s wearing a ring. I dare not catch his eye again, but much later he walks over to the waitress’ station that’s by me. He strikes up a conversation, asking where I went to school, trying to name people I might know. We haven’t talked long when a woman enters, strides up to him, and announces herself. “I’m his wife,” she says very pointedly to me. I greet her graciously, and try ignoring their ensuing argument. She tells him that she’s going to have one beer and leave. I’m aware of her sitting in his old seat across the bar for the next half hour. He is nowhere to be seen. A couple of girls pity her sitting miserably alone and try consoling her. After a single beer, she leaves as promised. When Rachel and I leave after another hour or so, we pass her husband re-entering the bar. We warn him about the dangers of not going home. He’s as concerned about it as the last guy. It’s not a glowing testimony for marriage.

In any case, I’m always entertained by the antics of people in that setting. If only there was some method of capturing it and sharing it. All the microcosms of society, all the otherwise subtle nuances of human behavior are found under the magnifying glass at your friendly neighborhood bar.

* = Names have been changed to protect those whom I like.