I love bars.
It's not just that they have beer, which, as Homer Simpson said and we all know to be true, is both the cause of and solution to all of life's problems. Bars are society's great levelers – they're places where members of every caste and economic strata can come together, try not to stand too close to one another, and feel free to point out each other's perceived missteps of lifestyle, affectation and action.
In Victorian England, they had public hangings, which served the same populist purpose. But since then, no location or event (save possibly a NASCAR race) has served to regularly attract a wider array of unrestrained, commingling humanity than the local bar.
Granted, there are bars that cater more specifically to certain groups; you don't get a lot of country music fans down at the fetish grotto. But even the most specialized bars are inevitably visited by folks from outside those places' target audiences; hang out at the fetish grotto often enough, and you will see a guy in a clean white cowboy hat, a silver belt buckle the size and shape of a tea-service tray, and snakeskin boots, trying his best (and failing miserably) not to gape at the surroundings and their occupants.
It's one of the main reasons to go to bars in the first place.
The various personalities that come together in differing proportions every night of the week in bars all over town don't always mesh perfectly, and that's to be expected. Different strokes, and all that. Given the fact that people have been crowding halls, taverns, meeting houses and grog shops for centuries, however, I'm consistently surprised to rediscover that lots of men and women simply don't know how to behave within the context of the bar environment. Different bars have different characters, but there is such a thing as bar etiquette. It doesn't matter if you're in a thatched tiki hut on Clearwater Beach or The Hub; certain unspoken rules apply across the board.
Over the past month, I've had occasion to wander farther from my regular haunts than usual. I've been on a sort of bar-hopping safari that's taken me from the massive Green Iguana installation out near Madeira Beach (where everybody looks at you with "fightin' eyes"), to Ferg's Sports Bar on Central Avenue (where Peaches, Peaches' mother, and I watched a woman puke into a planter at 4 o'clock in the afternoon), to Kenwood gay club Georgie's Alibi (where the best bar staff in the Bay area works), to hip new downtown St. Pete import-draft house The Independent (where a girl looked at my Gotohells baseball cap and said "loves it," a la Paris Hilton, and I died a little inside), and beyond.
There have been many cold bevvies, many priceless people-watching moments and, sadly, many instances of what is either complete ignorance of or wholesale disregard for the statutes that veteran social drinkers and chronic alcoholics alike follow almost unconsciously.
Maybe these people don't go to bars as often as I do, and that's fine. (That's probably better than fine; that's probably a really good idea.) But you try to learn a little Spanish before you head down to Mexico, don't you?
Here are eight basic Do's and Don'ts. Sure, most of them boil down to common sense, but that's something that sometimes seems to be short supply these days.
DO:Tip. Sounds like a no-brainer, right? You'd be surprised. Lots of drinkers don't know that most bartenders work for well below minimum wage, and some work for nothing but tips. If you can't afford to tip, you can't afford to go out. Buy a sixer of Natural Light, and stay home.
Give the regulars their props. You're a guest in their house. You don't have to buy the house a round, but you should refrain from starting a brawl if three or four people get served in front of you because they're tight with the bartender, or telling the guy at the urinal next to you to go to hell when he says, "gotta drain the lizard, am I right, buddy?" Sometimes it's tough, particularly when you're far out of your element, but be nice or, barring that, be discreet in your disdain.
Bring your own smokes. I occasionally fall short on this one myself, but come to think of it, I usually end up bumming smokes because several somebodies have bummed all of mine. If you're one of those people who only smokes when you're drinking, come armed with coffin nails, rather than some story about how you only smoke when you're drinking. That shit's getting expensive, you know.
Be patient when clearing up your tab. You've been sitting there for three hours, and now you're in a hurry? Yes, the server sees that credit card you're waving. Give it a minute; other people are still thirsty.
DON'T:Hit on the bartender. Talk about clichés. You're not the fifth, or even the 15th, person to give it a shot tonight. And I know for a fact that members of the staff hang around together after last call and try to one-up each other with stories of laughable come-ons while they restock the beer cooler. Compliments and chatter are great, if the barkeep's not in the weeds; heavy-handed offers, clumsy double entendre, and pathetic begging are not.
Monopolize a small bar. Some local watering holes (like the aforementioned Independent) don't have a lot of actual bar to lean on, but that doesn't seem to keep some people from lingering there interminably after getting their drinks, completely oblivious to the agitated line forming behind them. We know it took you a while to get up there – possibly because some other jackass was doing the same thing you are now – but show some courtesy. Besides, do you really want to get between some belligerent sot who's had a bad day and the only thing that gives him solace? Seriously, get the hell out of my way.
Block the trail. If you're in a crowded bar, and suddenly find yourself with plenty of room to stand, breathe, and not accidentally burn others with your cigarette, chances are you're right in the middle of the unmarked but universally understood path leading to the bathroom, or the patio, or the dance floor, or the jukebox. You will get bumped, and might get decked, depending on who bumps you and how much drink is spilled. Keeping the trail open is especially important in dive bars and your seedier music venues, where security might need to drag a troublemaker the length of the building to get him or her from the dance floor or the bathroom to the front door, and through it.
Complain loudly about how lame/uncool/dingy/poorly staffed the place is. Actually, do that. Because there's nothing more entertaining than watching somebody who's used to having his or her (in this case, it's usually her) ass kissed by obsequious barkeeps in upscale places yell about how shitty it is to be stuck in some dive bar, and then try to order a drink from a 'tender who's used to breaking up knife fights with a busted chair leg.
SCOTT.HARRELL@WEEKLYPLANET.COM
This article appears in Jun 2-8, 2005.
