A few weeks back I’m drinking with some mates in a Glasgow
bar on a Friday evening. After a couple of halves the others indulge my
burning need to try the beer cocktails. I’m at the bar waiting while the
anxious girl serving me (“Nobody ever asks for these!”) cautiously creates the
outlandish drinks when a middle-aged guy next to me starts asking me what I
think about ‘all this fancy beer stuff’. What he’s referring to is that we are
in a BrewDog bar. That’s right – a bar in Glasgow where they don’t serve
Tennants*. Essentially he is asking me if I think craft beers are worth all the fuss.
Well, I could talk about that one for hours. And this guy is
polite enough. He’s not being creepy or pushy or making me feel uncomfortable.
I’m just a little, kind of, put on the spot because I’m only there in Scotland
to visit my mates and I want to get back to my table. Plus I am stood in the
way of other people getting served at the bar and it’s busy in there at 5pm.
But I’m interested in the topic of conversation and I don’t want to be rude -
so we’ve been chatting for a few minutes when I feel a tug at my elbow.
Initially I thought it could be a friend of this guy and I was being
tag-teamed. But in fact it was our friend Jamie. So luckily, I didn’t elbow him
in the face first and ask questions later.
A couple of weeks later I am at a beer festival at a greater
London pub, a few miles down the road from where we live, that’s renowned for
its beers. A key point to note about the pub is that it’s community-owned - it
was all set to close down but some locals clubbed together and funded its
continued survival. Somebody must have done something right as it was CAMRA’s
Greater London pub of the year for 2012. It’s 6pm on a Thursday night and I’m stood at the
small bar out of the back of this pub where the festival is being held, with
the beer list in hand. I’ve just asked the barman if all the beers listed are
on. Between him, myself and Chris, we are just discussing the order we should
tackle them in, when I become aware of this looming presence to my right. I
turn and see this big guy, who is swaying slightly, leaning against the wall
next to the bar and intently watching me. I’m thinking: go away, drunkard.
Also please stop staring at me.
So I say: ‘Oh, would you like to go first? Because I might be a
little while...’ I give him a big friendly smile, thinking: please buy your
drink and move on.
He says: ‘No. I’m just watching!’ *creepy grin*
I smile and say: ‘OK then’ and turn away to continue
my discussion with the barman.
Random interloper guy interrupts us: ‘I’ll tell you which
beer you should try if you want a REALLY good beer!’
Hmmm. I say: ‘Oh
yes?’
He names a collaboration stout which we've
already had twice in the past week and we have Every Single
Intention of sampling it again that night. But we planned on starting with the
light beers and working toward the dark ones, hence we’ll get to that one
later. I explain this to him.
He says: ‘No! You should have it NOW!’
I smile and say: ‘No, it’s OK, we’ll have it later’ and turn
away.
He says: ‘DON’T WAIT. HAVE IT NOW.’
I ignore him. We purchase our beers, sit down and start
tasting them. We note that it’s 6pm on a Thursday evening, the beer
festival only started at midday, and there are an awful lot of loud drunken people in
there. Are these loud people local residents who have invested in this pub? Or are they just
people who have come here for the festival (albeit, getting started six hours
before us)? To be clear: we think this is a lovely pub which offers a fantastic range of beers. We really like it there. I guess their beer festivals are just very popular and attract a lot of custom.
At this point I begin to muse on the whole concept of talking
to (or sometimes at) strangers in pubs. Ever since I first started visiting
pubs and drinking beer (20-odd years ago) I’ve held a soft spot for that
camaraderie you get with strangers in pubs sometimes. I wonder if it is more of
a noticeable concept in the UK (compared to the US, for instance) because for
the most part we try pretty hard not to interact with strangers over here. I’ve
always had a certain level of respect for that particular species of social
interaction and I’ve always tried to be polite to strangers who have tried to
chat to me in pubs (to a point, obviously).
While I was up in Scotland (visiting BrewDog Glasgow and so on)
my friends and I were reminiscing about weekend away we had in Galway back in
2008 when we were in some grotty Irish pub where about 20-30 of us were sat
in one long line of tables, like we were at Oktoberfest (except without any decent beer). I always remember that day
because of the trampy Catweazle guy who
seemed really keen on chatting to some of us. My Scottish friend Fee wouldn’t
have a bar of him and told him flat out to fuck off. But I felt a kind of
empathy for the scruffy old bloke, like one day I might be a sad, old lonely
drunk and be desperate for someone to talk to, and so I let him babble at me and
hold my hand for a little while. It seemed to make him happy and it was a small
cost to me... But it’s quite possible that Fee was right and I was just being a
sap by tolerating the guy.
So all of these events have made me question the ‘right’ of
a punter to accost strangers in pubs? Do you really have any more right to talk
to someone and expect to get a response just because you’re in a pub and people
are there to enjoy themselves? Or should people take even more care to leave
you alone since you are ‘relaxing’ and are entitled to be left alone in your
‘leisure time’? Obviously there is a level where interacting with strangers
becomes intrusive. Are we obliged to show ANY politeness to strangers when we
are out having a drink? Is it different in your opinion to any other social
setting, e.g. commuting to work or sitting in a park? Does it make a difference if you’re alone? Should it? Do you find this kind of ‘friendly’ social behaviour
threatening? Does it annoy you? Or do you welcome it?
*please don’t be offended, Glasgow. I’ve visited quite a few of
your bars and many of them do not serve Tennants or any ‘mainstream’ beers for
that matter. In fact, Glasgow, I miss you and need to come back soon.
