The Watering Hole
17.11.2013 10 °C
The local pub.
The watering hole that supports all forms of life.
The old wise elephants, the cackling hyenas, the elegant gazelles and the sly tigers, fuelling up on the comforting bubbles of beer, wine and more booze and unwinding the weeks stresses.
As my friend and I sit at a candlelit table, sipping on our drinks, scoping the area, reminiscing on the previous sessions we’d had in the pub.
Funky jazz music played from the middle-aged DJ, and people awkwardly flung their limbs around on the dancefloor.
There was ‘the weird’ group. An old, hippy, apparently a barrister, cat lady who was handing out life lessons left, right and centre. The guy that said what his name was and then awkwardly stared at his feet. The guy that was overfriendly and kept breaking out in song and dance, and the guy who looked as though he’d killed someone in his life.
And of course, the weird group always has a way of interacting with you, and you, being the polite young lady you are, have to endure all their strange conversations whilst you’re slowly backed into a corner with no means of escape.
Luckily, the majestical bathroom was calling our names, and our escape route was clear. When out drinking, your bladder fails to work and you’re constantly making your way to the bathroom, which gradually becomes more disgusting as time passes, however, you learn to treasure this bathroom. You can escape from the weird group, reapply your lip stick and catch up on the gossip with your girls.
Behind the bar, where the golden fluid flows, there’s always a cute bar tender that you always secretly hope serves you. Ours always wears a flannelette shirt and converse and always cracks a joke making you feel special, making you always want to come back to the bar. Everyone needs a little eye candy right?
Down at the waterhole, there’s ALWAYS, the creep. The one man who you must avoid at all cost! And the one at our pub, is the most hilarious of them all.
He sits at a table half way between the entrance and the bar so he has an undisrupted view of the arena. He sips on his beer and leans back in his chair, his flamboyant shirt, 5 o’clock shadow and crooked smile, checking out all the new talent that walks into the room.
Now, each creep has their signature move, and his was… the eyebrows. He would sit back and raise his eyebrows everytime you accidentally make eye contact, you would cringe, then turn and laugh with your friends.
And then, there’s the hottest guy in the bar. You know every other girl has her green eyes on him, but you secretly hope he notices you above the rest. His blue eyes make contact with yours and your heart melts. He runs his fingers through his hair and your cheeks flush.
And tonight was ‘the night that was meant to be’ and we engaged in conversation with him. Totally played it cool of course.
We kept drinking, talking, dancing, avoiding, hoping, until we were fully recharged for the weekend, it was time to head home. We awkwardly smiled at the weird group, waved goodbye to the bar tender, avoided eye contact with the creep, kissed the hot guy goodbye and we were on our way.
It’s funny how the pub can bring people together. You go there to catch up with your friends to tell them about your crazy adventures… but little do you know, when you walk into the pub, you embark on a completely different adventure, that you will always have stories that you continue to share over all of your future pub endeavours.