barstools.
I think we all should experience what it’s like to work in the service industry. Recently I’ve felt this for a different reason — so we might have a better understanding of the communities we live in. This is true if we’re wiping down a bar top where we were born and raised, but even more impactful if we move to a new place, one in which we don’t feel we belong. Although I’ve never worked behind a bar, I’ve upended my entire life in a city I loved and moved to a rural area in a new state. I’ve felt as though I was a foreigner in a land where everyone spoke a different language and followed a set of unwritten rules.
I’ve punished myself for even making that comparison.
Watching the regulars at local bars is as isolating as it gets. I listen to them greet each other, and think of the few solid friends I’ve made here. It’s not been easy to form those relationships, even in a friendly place. All the friends have been made, and the drinks are all bought. The difficulty makes it more worth it, perhaps, and observing people in their comfort zone has taught me how to approach situations in a way I wouldn’t have known otherwise.
There truly is a moment when you walk into a small town bar — as an outsider — and people stop and stare at you. If a record player could skip like in the movies, it would. If you’re lucky, it ends within a couple seconds. My heart breaks for those who never stop feeling this way, who never feel seen. Depending on the bar, and the small town, folks might shout a hello, or they might go back to their own drinks and town gossip and leave me invisible. I quickly learned not to walk in first, to try to walk in behind someone tall. The city girl confidence I once had of meeting someone at a crowded place is long gone. No amount of knowing one’s worth can withstand a repeated assault of a room full of people staring at you as if you don’t belong.
Because they’re right.
The thing is, everyone’s very nice, once you drink with them. But that’s just it — if I’m not serving drinks, I need to be tossing them back. I have neither skill. I also have little to offer in the way of conversation, and that’s on me. Somewhere along the way I decided it’s best for me to keep to myself and say little of my past or future plans. I don’t want anyone to think I’m using them for a pit stop — I’m not. I don’t want to appear elitist — I’m not. But I had, and still have, countless questions.
I’ve never seen people walk home from bars — it wasn’t an option where I lived before. It felt like Cheers, but no one knew my name. While I don’t like the admission, it hurt my feelings to be so invisible. I’ve often wondered if I worked at one of the bars if that might help. Everyone likes a good bartender! Part of me thinks it doesn’t matter what career goals I have — I don’t look down on anyone’s job, so why not me? Isn’t this how I assimilate? By serving drinks to a town whose primary hobby includes drinking? I decided to give it time, and if I didn’t feel more at home in a few months, maybe that was my path. (I didn’t end up working as a bartender, but stay tuned — you never know!)
Some of the best people I know I’ve met on barstools. I can ask them anything, and once they trust I’m not mocking their way of life, but instead genuinely asking about farming, hunting, or what certain words and phrases mean, the seeds of real friendship are planted. They take longer to grow here in the North, but they’re just as genuine. I don’t have to get drunk, but I usually have a drink in front of me. I learned I love Bloody Mary’s, which are basically an appetizer in a glass. I use quite a bit of profanity, and I suppose that lends some credibility.
It’s possible that most of my new pals here in Minnesota have no idea about my previous career path, my education, upbringing, or any accomplishments and failures I’ve had. That’s by design. It’s due to privacy and humility, but I’m also acutely aware that the less I focus on me, the more they’ll discover on their own. For a people who work hard, mind their own business, and seek out their own information, that matters.
As for me, I prefer the seekers.
