I’ve always wanted to to be a bar fly. By always, I mean starting when I as 25 and moved to NYC. The fantasy was a place where everyone knew my name, and where I could meet new people and hear interesting stories. The reality is that I can’t actually drink the amount bartenders would have me drink. The reality is that most of those imagined “new people with interesting stories” are men who are easily set off.
The other afternoon, I went to our fav brewery with The Best Hubs Ever (TBHE). We hadn’t been out in a while, and hadn’t been out together in ever longer. We know many of the beertenders who are great people and so expected a relaxing afternoon with some friendly chit chat. And for a while it was great. We ordered food from a nearby restaurant—in which Santa and his wife were eating dinner (a major highlight for me and our 10yo)—and got to cuddle the official brewery ferret. (The only thing that makes a bar or brewery better is a tiny fuzzy adorable animal.) The Best Hubs ever and the 10yo ran off for some ice cream from the place next door where one of our friends works.
The beertender had poured us all (not the 10yo) beer shots. But having had a few mugs (1 mug=2 reg pours) the hubs abstained. So I gave his to the guy sitting next to us. Remember that fantasy of meeting new people and having interesting conversations/ hearing cool stories? I struck up a conversation. He brought up something about his old people watching Yellowstone. I like Yellowstone too, so I told my new friend about the man from Montana who owns a house on our street in Colorado getting pissy about people using the public trail access on his land. The point was that in the show, the Ranchers get pissed about the out-of-towners trying to buy up land for their personal pleasure, and this Montanan was doing exactly that in Colorado. My new friend got very upset that we of the neighborhood would dare to trespass on this man’s land to get to the public trail. I tried to explain, because he didn’t seem to get my point, but he wouldn’t let me. And when I asked that he let me finish my sentence he yelled that I was not letting him finish his. Whenever this happens, after the fact I go through it in my head and think of how I can be prepared for next time. I never am. it always catches me with my guard down. I was confused. He kept yelling at me, and I kept trying to defend myself. He’d ask me questions, but not stop arguing long enough to let me answer. Very shortly after this encounter exploded, my flight response took over and I moved to the far end of the bar to create physical distance and deescalate, and in hope that the beertrender would intercede and shut it down. But he kept going, kept attacking me, and no one did anything.
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