So about 7 months ago I moved to a brand new place where I didn't know a soul. It was scary, terrifying even but because I like to pretend to be super free spirited sometimes I made the move without giving it a second thought and started a brand new job in a brand new state in a small beach town with no family and/or friends. Luckily, I work with some pretty cool people so that made the adjustment a little easier but I didn't feel that occasionally going out with my work friends to various surrounding cities on the weekend was allowing me to truly experience all the wonderful qualities my new town had to offer...and by qualities I mean bars.
On TV you always see young professionals going out for drinks after work with their co-workers and meeting up with friends to bitch and moan about their day. I wanted that! Only problem is, I live in a beach town where 70% of the local population vividly remember World War II and the other 30% are locals and...well, nuff said. I never realized how much I took having my friends so close and being able to call them last minute and ask them to meet up with me whenever I wanted for granted. I eventually came to the realization that I would have to have a go at this this alone. Nevertheless I was determined to be the subject of my very own social experiment and go out by myself - I just had to get up the confidence to actually go through with it.
I was actually disappointed at how big of a baby I was being about the whole thing because I mean seriously, it's not a big fucking deal. I presented the idea to the group text all of my best friends communicate through daily and they all assured me that it was "perfectly normal" but the thought of being that lonely solo at the bar that everyone assumed had no friends or might have a drinking problem plagued me. But, after being heckled by my friends and a few drive by trips through "downtown" where I chickened out and went home to watch New Girl on my couch, I finally got up the nerve to venture out in good ol' downtown Bradenton, Florida. After all, besides the $40 in my wallet, what did I have to lose?
I didn't know where to start. I had been out in Bradenton before but everything looked a lot different in the daytime and I hadn't previously been drinking before I got there so it was a little weird. I came to realize this would be a trial and error sort of thing. I was initially shocked at just how many bars there are on a single street in such a small town but then again it is Florida and I encounter at least 3 drunks daily so it all eventually made sense. Needless to say I tried every single one. A fancy place with people in suits, one bar with hipsters and their dogs, another with 100 beers on tap, a lounge type place where a homeless man tried to sell me a flower he made out of trash and even an Irish pub where everyone yelled at each other. They were all fun and obviously had a lot to offer but there was a tiny place on the corner that was poorly lit and looked a little sad that I hadn't visited yet. I wasn't sure if this was a bar or a place where you'd go to purchase illegal firearms but as soon as I saw a tiny old man stumble out hammered drunk and hit his face on a newspaper dispenser I knew it was a place I needed to check out.
I walked in and once my eyes adjusted to the dark, rabbit hole ambiance and made it through the wave of cigarette smoke I was able to take a seat near the corner of the room. Every person immediately looked at me confused as to why I was there which I assume was because I was the only one who had showered that day and my shirt didn't have a name plate on it. I nervously ordered a Blue Moon that was later brought to me without an orange but I didn't ask any questions. As I surveyed the room I noticed that the bar was full of people having a drink by themselves who, if you disregard the amount of teeth they had left, were just like me. There were construction workers, businessmen, retirees, and probably at least one potential serial killer (nothing legally confirmed) who all knew each other and the bartenders by name. I was fascinated with the relationships they had made within the walls of the establishment and they were all genuinely happy to see each other. It wasn't long before I decided that this place was my jam.
I began to frequent this place once a week and eventually I became a recognizable face...or at least the bartender was able to decipher who I was. The other patrons were usually way behind the cork by the time I got there in the evenings so I couldn't very well expect them to comprehend who I was. My friends had their own reservations about the bar that I had chosen to be my "Cheers" because I'm typically the youngest person by at least 20 years and aside from my girl Char (bartender) and the occasional tie dye wearing gypsy I'm the only female you'll find but it never bothers me. Other than the one time the Blue Moon tap ran out and the bartender said, "I don't know how this keg can be empty-you're literally the only person who orders this stuff", I have never been ashamed to be a regular there. The place is great! My drink is waiting for by the time I take my seat, I am constantly being told that I am "a magnificent lookin' lady" and it's the only place I've found where "Wagon Wheel" and anything by Three 6 Mafia are equally appreciated. Also, I don't think that I've ever seen anyone order a "bucket uh Bud" and finish it in 40 minutes in the graceful way that Butch Freeman does. Impressive to say the least.
Is my bar even a little bit clean, sophisticated or up to code? Most definitely not. Are the glasses squeaky clean and do the bathrooms always have toilet paper? Nah, but is any of the stuff really important? What I do know is that my bar is full of salt of the earth people who accept everyone for who they are. I was welcomed with open arms despite my designer handbag and combed hair and those one to five hours that I'm posted up on my stool I'm just one of the gang. I feel a responsibility to my new friends because after all, who is going to listen to Char talk about her troubles with hypertension or teach Dale how to send his new girlfriend a picture from his iPhone? My point is, don't be afraid to go out of your comfort zone even if it does mean having all your clothes permanently smell like smoke or having to shoot the shit for two hours with drunks who pay their tabs in nickels and grocery store coupons. I imagine that as my mother reads this the pride she felt after reading my previous blog about not wanting to go out drinking anymore is quickly diminishing. Don't you worry your pretty little head, Crazy. Just look at this new hangout of mine as a much more entertaining coffee shop. I encourage everyone to go out and find their very own "Old Main Pub". What's the worst that could happen, right? However, I must encourage you to do so with extreme caution as solo bar sitting can be a little tricky. As it goes in most situations, you never really know how drunk you are until you are in the bathroom by yourself.
Happy Hunting!
