Reno Bars and The Guilt, The Guilt
Hmmm, I wonder if I visit bars less now that I'm perched on the crest of thirty years of age. I'd prefer to say...yes? Seriously, though, bars have regained some of the lost mystery I once retained for them say, five or ten years ago. That must mean that I don't go to them as often; absence does make the heart grow fonder, after all.
Lately, all of my bar experiences have been unequivocally weird. Mostly because I have a little-known syndrome, colloquially referred to as "bar guilt." For the purposes of blog clarity, I'll describe the syndrome in brief: It is an "acute social disorder wherein the subject is aware of intense feelings of guilt for not engaging in conversation with the person they deem least desireable at the bar. Subject is driven by intense psychological forces to eschew contact with "safe" conversants (usually an accompanying friend or acquaintance), in lieu of lively interaction with aforementioned undesireable person."
It's weird--I know what my problem is, and yet I'm helpless to remedy it. In the last three months I've had a pack of cigarettes stolen, several friends befuddled by inattention, my boyfriend irked, and my bar tab prematurely run up due to this condition. It's like I think to myself, "Hey, I can just turn around and pick up a conversation with my friends." You know, the "Quit Any Time" bit. Instead, I choose to try validating some dickweed who probably doesn't really need validating (but, yes, he does), while explaining that I have a boyfriend who is sitting right next to me--My boyfriend and I have a great relationship, though that is not evidenced by the fact that I'm talking to a lame-ass with a faux-hawk who's plotting about how best to steal my smokes. Although, they were American Spirits (blue pack), which are kind-of expensive. I think they're $5.15 at 7-11, but usually they're about a nickel more expensive at the Quickie Marts. Strangely enough, bar cigarette machines only charge like $5 straight-up; You'd think they'd be more expensive--but I digress.
People of Reno, listen. It was at a bar last night that I received some sage advice from a youngish man. Wise beyond his age by about two years, he said to me, "It's weird. It's like, I'm at a bar and I'm talking to someone and I'm like, 'what's up, why are we talking?'--in my head, though. And then I'm like, it's weird, because in Reno there's like this thing where you have to talk to people who are around you, waving. You can't just spend time by yourself, enjoying the silence and shit."
That dude spoke to my feelings about my condition in an intimate way; maybe that was why I was talking to him at the bar. He will never know how much his observations meant to me, mostly because I'll never go back to that f-ing bar again. Unless my buddies are going and only if we have dinner and a game of darts first because they don't serve food at that bar, nor do they have a dart board.
Lately, all of my bar experiences have been unequivocally weird. Mostly because I have a little-known syndrome, colloquially referred to as "bar guilt." For the purposes of blog clarity, I'll describe the syndrome in brief: It is an "acute social disorder wherein the subject is aware of intense feelings of guilt for not engaging in conversation with the person they deem least desireable at the bar. Subject is driven by intense psychological forces to eschew contact with "safe" conversants (usually an accompanying friend or acquaintance), in lieu of lively interaction with aforementioned undesireable person."
It's weird--I know what my problem is, and yet I'm helpless to remedy it. In the last three months I've had a pack of cigarettes stolen, several friends befuddled by inattention, my boyfriend irked, and my bar tab prematurely run up due to this condition. It's like I think to myself, "Hey, I can just turn around and pick up a conversation with my friends." You know, the "Quit Any Time" bit. Instead, I choose to try validating some dickweed who probably doesn't really need validating (but, yes, he does), while explaining that I have a boyfriend who is sitting right next to me--My boyfriend and I have a great relationship, though that is not evidenced by the fact that I'm talking to a lame-ass with a faux-hawk who's plotting about how best to steal my smokes. Although, they were American Spirits (blue pack), which are kind-of expensive. I think they're $5.15 at 7-11, but usually they're about a nickel more expensive at the Quickie Marts. Strangely enough, bar cigarette machines only charge like $5 straight-up; You'd think they'd be more expensive--but I digress.
People of Reno, listen. It was at a bar last night that I received some sage advice from a youngish man. Wise beyond his age by about two years, he said to me, "It's weird. It's like, I'm at a bar and I'm talking to someone and I'm like, 'what's up, why are we talking?'--in my head, though. And then I'm like, it's weird, because in Reno there's like this thing where you have to talk to people who are around you, waving. You can't just spend time by yourself, enjoying the silence and shit."
That dude spoke to my feelings about my condition in an intimate way; maybe that was why I was talking to him at the bar. He will never know how much his observations meant to me, mostly because I'll never go back to that f-ing bar again. Unless my buddies are going and only if we have dinner and a game of darts first because they don't serve food at that bar, nor do they have a dart board.
posted by Undercoverbean at 12:13 AM
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