“2 Thoughts” is an ongoing series on Natetheworld where a special guest and I respond to a published story in the manner of our choosing. Enjoy!

To read the original essay, The Bar That Showed Me Who I Could Have Been, click here.

From Field Parties to Hollywood by Nathan Box

For all practical purposes, the Tillman county of my youth was a dry county. Sure, you could score beers from all the convenience stores, but there was no bar to hang your hat. By the time I reached “drinking age,” all the bars of Frederick had been shuttered. The Brass Rail was just a name to me, nothing more.

Still, I have stood in country fields, drinking with friends, and acquaintances from high school. I have sat in bars in Oklahoma City. I have walked into a gay bar in Seattle for the first time and I have sipped cocktails in the shadow of the Hollywood sign. Each of these scenes provided an opportunity to see who I might have been and who I would become.

The country fields and barn parties of my youth were filled with danger and teenage rebellion. Taking place on some farmer’s land, I could see the future for many of the people before me. Many of them would never leave Frederick or Southwest Oklahoma. Many of them were not forced to stay. It was their choice. They would choose to work and toil in the soil like their father and grandfather before them. Planting and harvesting were in their blood. There was no escape. They craved simplicity and rejected an outside world encroaching on all they hold dear. Others standing before me would be trapped by circumstance. They would long to leave but had been cast the wrong dice.

I would not be a victim of circumstance.

In the bars of Oklahoma City, I grew closer to my friends and cemented relationships that remain to this day. For hours, we found ourselves lost in deep conversation and in the midst of a never-ending arms race of who could own the spotlight. These were friends who would be hard to leave, but I had to leave. I needed to step into new bars and discover a version of myself hidden from the world. This version could not be freed in Oklahoma.

I would dare greatly and find myself in the process.

My first trip to a gay bar was in Oklahoma City. I went on a dare. My first gay bar on my own fruition was in Seattle. Standing outside in the rain, nervous anxiety ran through me. Crossing that threshold meant everything to me. It meant acceptance. It meant freedom. It meant defying preconceived notions. It meant finding new friends who were like me. It meant making some mistakes. It meant a new and truer version of Nathan would be introduced into the world.

I would become myself.

In bars of all shapes and sizes in Los Angeles, the most confident version of myself would request cocktails, gather with friends, and command my space. In the bars of LA, I felt accomplished, accepted, and loved. Here, I made new friends. These friends were completely different than those I made in Oklahoma or Seattle, but they made me feel like family. They made the struggle of work and a long-distance relationship a little less hard.

I would become convinced that almost anything can be solved over a cocktail.

Some people like to assume no good can occur in bars. They are drawn only to the rebellion, danger, hedonism, or pretentiousness of it all. While I have experienced all of this in these establishments, I also experienced growth, safety, acceptance, and friendship. Bars are what we make them out to be. For me, they have meant the world.

Be good to each other,

 Nathan

  A Minnesota Bar by S. Jensen

While I think we all should experience what it is like to work in the service industry for many reasons, this article highlights a little known one—so we might have a better understanding of the community we live in. This is true if it’s where we were born and raised, but even more impactful if we move to a new place, one in which we don’t feel we belong. Although I’ve never worked in a bar or restaurant, I have upended my entire life in a city I loved and moved to a rural area in a new state. I’ve felt as though I was a foreigner in a land where everyone spoke a different language and followed a set of rules I wasn’t clued in to. Reading about the regulars at Kickers made me think of our local bar. I could replace names with names of friends I’ve made here, although it’s not been easy to form those relationships. The difficulty makes it more worth it, perhaps, and observing people in their comfort zone has taught me how to approach situations in a way I wouldn’t have known otherwise.

There really is a moment when you walk into a bar like Kickers when you walk in—as an outsider—and people stop and look at you. If a record player could skip like in the movies, it would. If you’re lucky, it ends within a couple of seconds. Depending on the bar, and the small town, folks might shout a hello, or they might go back to their own drinks and town gossip. I quickly learned not to walk in first, and to try to walk in behind someone tall. The city girl confidence I once had of meeting someone at a crowded place was long gone. No amount of knowing one’s worth could withstand a repeated assault of a room full of people staring at you as if you don’t belong.

Because they were right.

The thing is, they were all very nice, once you drank with them. But that was just it—if I wasn’t serving them drinks, I needed to be tossing them back. I had neither skill. I also had little to offer in the way of conversation. Like the author, it was best for me to keep to myself and say nothing of my past or future plans. I didn’t want anyone to think I was using them for a pit stop—I wasn’t. I didn’t want to appear elitist—I’m not. But I had, and still have countless questions.

I’d never seen people walk home from bars—it wasn’t an option where I lived before. It felt like Cheers, but no one knew my name. While I didn’t necessarily want them to, it hurt my feelings to be so invisible. I wondered if I worked there if that might help. Everyone likes a good bartender! Part of me thought it didn’t matter what career goals I had—I didn’t look down on anyone’s job, so why not me? Isn’t this how I assimilate? By serving drinks to a town whose hobby includes drinking? I decided to give it time, and if I didn’t feel more at home in a few months, maybe that was my path.  (I didn’t end up working as a bartender, but stay tuned—you never know!)

Some of the best people I know I’ve met on barstools. I can ask them anything, and once they trust I’m not mocking their way of life, but instead genuinely asking about farming, hunting, or what certain words and phrases mean, the seeds of real friendship are planted. I don’t have to get drunk, but I usually have a drink in front of me. I learned I love Bloody Mary’s, which are basically an appetizer in a glass. I use quite a bit of profanity, and I suppose that lends some credibility. It’s possible that most of my new pals here in Minnesota have no idea about my previous career path, my education, upbringing, or any accomplishments I’ve had. That’s by design. It’s due to humility, but I’m also acutely aware that the less I focus on me, the more they can discover on their own. For people who work hard, mind their own business, and seek out their own information, that matters.

s.jensen

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