Alone at a Bar

Have you ever been to a bar alone? I hadn’t until Saturday night. It was 3 AM and I didn’t want to go home yet. I’d just seen a boy I’d previously met a few weeks back and still hadn’t had the chance to say hi to him. And when I say I “hadn’t had the chance,” what I really mean is, I was too fucking scared to go up to him. So, when it came to the point where Bernard and Maria were ready to go home, I walked out of the bar with them and felt the disappointment in myself for not going up to that boy earlier on. On our way to the car, I stopped Maria and she knew what I was thinking. She gave me a quick pep talk and I said, “fuck it.”

I walked back to the bar and called Lien for some more motivation. Luckily, she was already awake, wishing she was drunk with me. When I built up the balls to go inside, I bought a rum and coke and sat down at a table on my own, texting Lien about how sad this situation was. What was even sadder was how I lost the boy I was meant to say hi to—the only reason I was sitting at a bar alone. But having finished my twelfth drink for the night, I finally had the courage to get off my ass and not be “that girl” at the bar. You know the one, the sad loner at an empty table, drinking on their own.

I did a couple loops to check if that boy I’d lost was still in the bar somewhere, but he was nowhere to be found. On my second loop around the bar, a guy had called for my attention. I stopped at his green eyes.
He smiled and asked me, “are you just going to keep walking back and forth like that?”
“I’ve lost my mates and I’m trying to find them,” I lied.
We sat down at a table together and soon enough we were in a taxi going back to his place.

I learnt two lessons that night:

  1. Sometimes, you do what you got to do. And sometimes that means going to a bar on your own.
  2. Apparently, my new drinking limit is 12. I don’t know if I should be proud of this