Barred!

Last week, I carried out a social experiment. I’d heard from a few friends (men, mostly) that hanging out at bars alone could be interesting. Sure, I thought unkindly, it must be for them; after all, it offers a great chance for them to chat up girls (who I figured hung out in all-girl groups at the same bars). But I was convinced it couldn’t be as fun for a girl to go alone. At least, one who isn’t looking to get picked up. (Word to the liberal thinkers: No, I have nothing against people looking to get picked up or those who do the picking up; just that it’s not what I wanted out of this experiment).

But how could I diss it until I’d tried it? So off I went, by myself on a Wednesday night. I couldn’t bring myself to do it over a weekend; I was too chicken for that. I figured I’d seem less like a loser and more like someone who enjoyed their own company if I went on a week night.

The intention was to go to Jigger & Pony on Amoy Street during Happy Hours, but one look at the interiors from outside made my already cold feet go sub-zero. The inside of the bar looked swanky, in dark, rich shades of red and black, with an ominous glow from low-burning candles. Definitely not the most boisterous bar settings, I thought.

On the other hand, Sugarhall next door, looked more inviting. There were a couple of groups outside, laughing and generally being more human. And the deciding factor was that I could actually see a bar that one could hang out at.

So I entered and, without waiting to be asked, perched myself on a stool at the bar counter. The three bartenders behind the counter and the usher who was about to guide me to a table looked at me in surprise for about 2.5 seconds. Then everybody went about the their business. Score, Rashida.

The waiter/usher brought two menus and placed them in front of me. I asked what they had going for Happy Hours. He brought me a different menu and said that Happy Hours ended at 7.30pm. “So, did I just miss it?” I asked it. It was probably around 7.33pm by then. “No,” he said, “it’s fine, you can go ahead and order.” Score, Sugarhall.

I played safe and ordered the Planter’s Punch. And after being asked if I wanted a snack, I ordered the hand cut fries as well. Turned out to be a darned good idea in hindsight, seeing as how generous they had been with the rum in a Happy Hours drink – score, Sugarhall! An empty stomach with that drink in a somewhat sleepy state would not have been a good idea…

So there I sat, with my fries and drink, and the bartenders kept giving me smiles every once in a while, but there was no chance of a conversation. The guy two stools away from me kept up a chatter with the girl bartender, obviously sharing his knowledge of drinks and, unless I’m very mistaken, exasperating the girl, who of course couldn’t say anything to him. seated as I was at the far end of the table, conversation with anyone else on the other side was impossible. Pity, because there was a group of three men there. The seemed more approachable at any rate than any other groups, which were bigger and therefore more formidable, or the couples, who were completely off limits on account of being happy with just each other’s company.

So I sat there munching my fries (again, glad I had them. The drink would have disappeared much sooner on it’s own and I’d have had to order another, or clear out of there otherwise) and occasionally sipping my drink. The girl bartender asked me a couple of times if everything was fine, but she was much too busy for me to converse with her.

It was quiet, with about three tables being occupied. One was a big bunch of girls obviously out for ladies’ night, another was two couples, and a third, two guys. Another couple walked in and went to the far end of the place a while later, and I couldn’t really see them from where I was seated.

After about 40 minutes of being seated there, one of the bartenders came over to my end of the bar and started wiping down glasses. This provided ample opportunity to chat while he worked, so he struck up a conversation. Am I grateful to him! The conversation went something like this:

“Is everything okay?”

“Just fine, thanks.”

“Do you come here often?”

“No, this is my first time here. I was supposed to go to Jigger & Pony next door, but I couldn’t see the bar table, so I came here!”

“Oh, they do have a bar, but it’s smaller. Actually, both the bars (Sugarhall and Jigger & Pony) are run by the same company.”

“Oh,” I said.

Then, after a while I asked, “Do you guys have a signature drink?”

“What are you having?”

“Planter’s Punch.”

“Oh, that’s the Happy Hours menu. What kind of spirits do you like?”

“I like rum. And generally drinks that aren’t too sweet.”

“We’re a rum bar, so we have over 78 (I think that’s the figure he mentioned) kinds of rum here.”

“Oh, great! Then I walked into the right place,” I smiled.

After that, he went on to point out a couple of other drinks he said I should try, but I thanked him and said maybe I would leave it for the next time.

After a little over an hour, I was done eating my fries and my drink was finished, too. I contemplated whether I wanted another but, truth-be-told, I was a bit bored. I’ve always looked upon going out – whether it’s for drinks or food – as a social activity. If I had to, I’d eat alone, but never at a fancy place; I just always found that very… sad. And as I’d expected, I was bored drinking by myself.

But, I must also confess that could possibly be because I chose the wrong bar. Not that there’s anything wrong with Sugarhall. In fact, it’s chilled out with good drinks and friendly staff. But for a trip alone, it probably wasn’t the best place. So, I might give it a go again later this week, and go to a real, boisterous bar and see if I can have myself a good time!