The night of this story started early. Too early. I walked into Just John to find…mostly older men. I arrived early assuming a Ru Paul Drag Race viewing party would attract more people. As it turns out, if you arrive before 9PM you will find senior hour in full swing. I’m shocked there was no Bingo. Are gay bars secretly sponsored by the AARP?
To cement the concept, a man we’ll call Drunk Grandpa ambles over to the bar. For a moment I hoped he was just ordering a drink. But once there, he teeters over to me. His stellar ice breaker is this: “I’ve had a lot to drink already. I need to chill out for a bit before going back out.” What a prize. Luckily, he was just a friendly drunk. He asked typical things: where I live, have I been here before, what I do for work. He marveled at the fact that I go to bars alone. He asked me why I do it, as if I would have papers to prove my right to be there.
I never understand people finding it so unfathomable that a person could go to bars alone. As if I’m some Victorian citizen with a dirty novel. Even when people call it “brave” there is a tinge of pity to their words and awe in their eyes. Now that being gay is acceptable, being independent is the new social oddity.
Anyway, I gave him vague explanations such as I am a people watcher. That’s always an acceptable answer. The least charming part was having to say my answers three times, as he was hard of hearing. I quickly learned to keep my replies short and direct. Eventually, he left of his own accord, saying he was ready to go back out and drink. Please let this not be my only interaction with a man tonight.
Shortly after Drunk Grandpa’s exit, a group of 20-somethings in lobster themed clothing, pincers and all, arrived. I’m familiar with Pups and Furries, but lobsters are a new one. I asked the bartender if I missed a memo, and he asked them about it. They’re a bachelor party of coworkers whose favorite animal is the lobster. After a round of shots, one of them went onto the dance floor and did a lobster dance. Arms up, pincers open and closing, body scuttling from side to side. Shortly others joined him. You never know what you will see at Just John.
When I got tired of watching drunk lobsters, I went to sit on the patio for air. Only a few minutes later a woman walked over near me, muttering, “This is not what I ordered…This is not what I ordered.” Oh god, she is heading right for me. Please don’t engage. But she did. She was tall, read headed, maybe mid 30s, and intoxicated, constantly hiccupping. She introduced herself and pulled me up to dance to a country song I didn’t know. Afterwards, she called me a “baby gay” because I didn’t recognize the song. The dance was fun, but the conversation afterwards was pretty routine, just like the one with Drunk Grandpa. Once she meandered over to another person, I fled back inside to get another drink and sit at the bar again. Tonight, I must be a magnet for drunk people.
I sat at the bar with a Moscow Mule, watching people filter into the bar. One thing I’ve noticed about crowds at gay bars is they are filled with the guys who won’t talk to you online. Then a guy comes in that I wasn’t expecting. He is a bartender at another gay bar. He is tall, toned, and has a great smile. I’ve known him for a while and have always had a crush on him, but have only ranked as casual acquaintances. Even breaking into the friendzone is a challenge. We’ll call him Mr. Unattainable. When he walked in, the rest of the room fell away. It’s amazing how one person shatters your world. I forced myself to stay in my seat while he stood across the room talking to a bartender, then he walked out to the patio.
After a few more minutes, and a little more alcohol consumed, I got the nerve up to walk back to the patio and talk to him. When he saw me, his face lit up and he said, “Oh my god!” and he hugged me. That night was his first day off in two weeks. I told him I had no idea how he had the energy to be at the bar. He then stepped away to get a drink and talk to the DJ. After several minutes of standing by to see if he would return to our conversation, I sat down on the bench and accepted defeat. Mr. Unattainable continues to live up to his name.
While I sat and took stock of the night’s events, mule clutched in my hands, the door to the patio opened again. I first noticed his gleeful eyes pinning me immediately, then his cartoonish smile. It was Janus. With his boyfriend and third wheeling friend in tow. He made a bee line for me. He definitely recognized me, he even knew we were snapchat friends! But he forgot my name again. Before I could tell him, he asked for a hint. I gave an easy one and he guessed right. Like everyone else, he latched onto the fact that I came alone. He assumed I was looking for a man. I told him, “maybe, but I’m not desperate.” We caught up for a bit and when they went to wander the bar I opted to stay outside. I didn’t want to get sucked into another unpredictable journey.
Later, I wandered back inside myself and while I stood people watching, Janus ran to me again and asked if I would join his friends for a round of shots and a group photo. He assured me again that I would get tons of new snapchat friends from it. “That sure didn’t happen the first time,” I slyly informed him. This time I relented, “have liquor will travel” being a personal conviction. Vegas bombs were the shots of choice. I have to admit, I am starting to warm up to Janus a bit. He is definitely a “good time guy” friend to go out with. Before the group dispersed and went to another bar, Janus invited me to their plans for Saturday and Sunday. I did not end up joining, but there was a really special feeling to being asked to go along. I was in a group, but was not being forgotten. I was considered individually.
That night served as a perfect microcosm of the various experiences one may have at gay bars. Awkward encounters, yearning for the guy you can’t have, finding unexpected friends, and at the very best, a sense of belonging. They are a stage for the most human of experiences to play out. Heartbreak, hope, love, disappointment, first meetings, final partings. Some of you may read these experiences and wonder why I would continue visiting the bars. Gay bars are the land of eternal second chances. No two nights are exactly alike. Even after a disappointing night, I always think: Maybe next time will be better.
Photo courtesy of Just John