There aren’t many places that are more depressing than a hotel bar. They can be necessary, essential even, when a road weary business traveler needs a stiff drink and warm meal. I get it. Trust me. I do. I’ve been to more than enough to appreciate the convenience.
I’m here speeding through my morning prep routine, late for the meetings I’ve travelled here to attend, and all I can think about is last night. That bar. That scene. Nothing even happened, really. It was like a thousand other quick meals at the closest open place; an experience I’ve become familiar with through repetition. Flights, cabs, hotels, back into cabs, office buildings, conference rooms, bars, hotels, airports then repeat it all again in another city.
As soon as I got off the elevator I made a beeline for the bar when I was lucky to spot an open seat. I find it a little embarrassing to take up a two-top table when it’s just me. I feel like I get stares from the other diners; like they think I’m some sad loner who has nobody to eat with and insists on eating out in public rather than ordering in like every other loner who is smart enough to eat a solo meal in private. The bar is always a solo traveler’s safest bet. It maintains a societal equilibrium or just calms my nerves. This particular bar was decorated in the contemporary style all hip bars have seemed to embrace, which is itself a throwback to somewhere in the 1920’s or 30’s – velvet upholstery, lush spherical lighting, marble accents, brass fixtures, dashes of bold color setting the general ambiance rather than being intrusive. It’s the style of a speakeasy though when filtered through the mass appeal requirement of a hotel bar it comes off as a chintzy ugly step-son of the real article. So they cut a corner here and there to give the same overall vibe a more welcoming bent, ensuring they don’t scare off the less intrepid hotel patron who may be put off by something very far from whatever the suburban ideal of comfort and welcome may be. I imagine the goal is to seem cool without really being cool. It’s the veneer of cool. Maybe there’s a hotel consultant out there who has developed a philosophy around the notion of the cool facade and welcoming interior as the guiding principle that defines a successful middle of the road hotel. Somebody somewhere came up with this concept that multiplied overnight. Or maybe it developed organically – a touch of velvet upholstery here, a modernist lamp there, and before you knew it an entire boutique design language emerged. As soon as I sat down an attentive bartender in denim apron (an imperfect match for the period decor though thoroughly on trend in its current iteration) poured me a glass of water and handed me a menu. Before looking at it I did a quick survey of the room. The man on my right was eating an appetizer and scrolling through his phone. The seat to my left was empty. Behind me was a large group, probably a post-work outing, judging by the bits of conversation that were audible at the bar. On the other side of the L shaped bar was four or five other men, all sitting alone, in various stages of completing their warm meal and drink(s) cycle.
I put in my order with the bartender then scrolled through my own phone. I didn’t have anything that needed my attention and there was nothing pulling me towards the various apps and sites I frequent other than the need to have my eyes on something that wasn’t the room and people around me. People who have nothing to do can be off-putting for whatever reason. You need to be doing something, anything when sitting alone. It’s strange to think about what people did before phones. In the movies people are always flipping through newspapers or just sitting in quiet, contemplative silence. Maybe those are greasy spoons in movies. I guess a hotel bar would be more raucous in a movie. There would be cigarette girls and toasts and piano players and pomades and smiles from across the room. Maybe in reality people just talked or didn’t and that was fine. There, in that bar or any, the default is to be on your phone or gazing at the television strategically placed in a convenient corner. If you forget your phone, have no newspaper, and don’t expect a piano player or cigarette girl to go by anytime soon then it’s something to look at. It’s there for that reason. Last night everyone was in luck. There was a football game about to start. Nothing plays the role of collective inattention in a crowded bar better than America’s favorite gladiatorial sport.
That reminds me that yesterday was Monday night. I remember when the whole family would huddle around the television on Monday nights and watch whoever was playing like it was a weird ritual. There was an anthem, a sense that it was an appointment that couldn’t be missed. The kids at school would be talking about it the following day so in way it was homework as well. Maybe there was less to choose from on the TV dial back then. Everyone was kind of watching the same things by default. I remember reading something about that; how audiences have become fractured in the streaming world and there are no shows or events that rise to water cooler talk heights. We don’t really have water coolers anymore either. I do like the way “water cooler” sounds though. It rolls off the tongue if you say it slowly and with hep cat affect. It transcends its own anodyne meaning I think. Maybe there is some cosmic through line from those old time family appointment viewing events and the fact that a bunch of older people in a hotel bar are all still tuned to that same event years later. It’s a way of being alone together. The violent visuals make the emptiness of the liminal hotel bar experience more palatable, more fun I suppose.
My food arrived promptly. I ate a little faster than I normally would. Eating alone is more of a chore than an event. In the company of friends I may be inclined to linger and talk, nurse a few drinks, relax into my seat, kick up my feet and savor the evening. Alone, I want to fill my stomach and maybe get the kind of minor alcoholic buzz that makes sleeping in a hotel easier. I take bites of my food and scan the room. I take bites of my food and stare at the television. The man to my right was halfway through a bottle of wine he’d ordered for himself and done with his appetizer, half eaten for some reason. I’ve noticed that ordering habits in those places can be different. I think people aim to maximize their expense accounts. It makes them order more food and drink than what they’d get normally and probably don’t even want. I’m convinced almost everyone will take whatever they can get away with in almost any circumstance where there is a clearly defined limit. To accompany his entree he propped his phone up against the bar and played a game. I couldn’t make out exactly what game it was with quick, acceptable for the occassion, glances. I think it was one of those mindless games of constant tapping and zero strategy. The tapping is the only point. I think they tap against the onset of boredom. Across the bar another person, similar age and dress, had a tablet propped up the same way. Maybe he was also playing. I could only see the back of his tablet.
Two of the bartenders discussed the game. They did it loudly, inviting the customers to join in the sports talk. This time there was no takers. But I appreciate the effort. Some people want to use conversation as their solo meal diversion, and sports, football specifically usually lures the extroverts out into the open. It took me a moment to understand what they were talking about until I saw the replay. A would be tackler dove at a runner with the ball. Instead of knocking them over, his head went right into their knee. The defender fell awkwardly. He was woozy when he tried to stand back up. A couple of his teammates had to help steady him. It was an obvious concussion. The bartenders weren’t arguing about the play itself. The commentators weren’t talking about it either. Instead the issue was how often that particular player had been hurt in the past. I didn’t know anything about it. I did think it was odd how callous and desensitized we’ve become to injury. I seemed to be the only one. The rest of the bar acknowledged the incident briefly then went back to whatever they were doing or pretending to do or speeding through to get back to their rooms.
One bartender, ever attentive to the changes in the room, cleared my plate as soon as I was done. I took the final sips of my drink and studied the room again. I considered ordering another drink for a brief moment. Then I thought about all the stuff I would need to scroll through on my phone or the endless succession of commercials I would need to watch on television to stay occupied while I drank. The decision was made for me. I paid my bill and left.
“What do you think?” I hear the question and I don’t register that I’m the one being asked until it’s too late. I look around the room and someone steps in to save me by changing the subject. I wait until the conversation has turned and give them a nod of thanks. They nod back, knowing what it’s like to drift in a meeting. It’s clear I owe them. I’ll make it up to them sometime soon. Maybe I’ll buy them a drink at the bar.
GLAZ 