In a bar, drinking alone.

I'm not there anymore, but I was earlier tonight.  And it's not as bad as it sounds.

For a few years, I've had this romantic idea of sitting in a dimly lit bar drinking neat scotch, watching blue smoke float its way past the dying lights.  I've imagined the kind of establishment that gets momentarily bathed in light when someone walks in the heavy door, but is quickly returned to its pupil-dilating sepia ambiance once the door closes again.

I've wondered what one must be thinking when they find themselves in this situation, and I'm certain the thoughts aren't the most positive. Loneliness, self loathing, boredom, and emotional pain are topics that I'm sure find purchase at a time like that.

In a weird way I've wanted to find myself in this situation, just so I could feel the deep, rich emotions that would go along with it.  They'd be tough feelings to deal with, but at the very least I'd find yourself experiencing the most that life has to offer.

Today in the bar was not one of those times, as it was only depressing in that it was raining and already dark at only 5pm.

Carmella was staying over in Whistler teaching a weekend snowboard camp, and I was walking home from the bookstore.  We hosted a successful engagement party last night, so I wasn't feeling like being social for two nights in a row.  I felt like watching the hockey game, so I ducked into a White Spot family restaurant that has a lounge section.  Being alone, I was guided to the corner of the bar where two others were already sitting.

I had a beer and a burger, and watched a period and a half of hockey.  During the first intermission, I took Douglas Coupland's Player One out of my bag and began to re-read the first chapter.

I was alone in the bar, but wasn't depressed.  I was somewhat bored, but not bored enough to dig up some social times for myself, and not desperate enough to head back to my house, not wanting to run into my roommate who I seem to always be at loggerheads with.

It was fun for about half my burger.  I was enjoying my alone time as I always do, but realized I enjoy it more if I'm reading, writing or running.  It's not that fun to sit in a bar alone, even if you're not depressed.

I listened in on the conversation the two other alone people were having.  One was a somewhat overweight 32 year old male, wearing a plain blue t-shirt.  The other was a 35ish female, wearing a sweatshirt that reminded me of Dad's Overland Express shirt; something that used to be stylish but because of its utility, never got thrown out or retired even ten years after its purchase.

The guy was quite intelligent yet had some social challenges, speaking more slowly than I was used to.  He was talking to the girl, who predictably brought her fiance into the conversation, saying that if he were here instead of Taiwan, he would eat her leftover yam fries.

I was hoping the guy would ask why he was in Taiwan, and he did.  Apparently he's a PhD geneticist creating strains of white rice from native brown rice.

I was also hoping the guy would ask if she goes to visit him much, and he did.  She just returned from a 5-week visit over there, but that was as long as she could afford to stay.

I was hoping that the guy would ask if there were plans for him to move back, and he did.  There were no concrete plans, but she was hoping soon.

I wondered what kind of relationship would require both parties to be so far away from each other, even through engagement.  I thought maybe they had careers that required them to be apart.  It fit for his case, but not for hers.  Staying behind for a career that allowed for five weeks off in October and November would fit, but then I couldn't quite think of what kind of career would have such a plastic work schedule.

My second thought is that they were believers who didn't feel comfortable making a living commitment before they got married.  I was soon proven correct, in at least half of my guess.  She mentioned they met at church, but didn't mention the reason they are living apart.

The Canucks started losing and I was no longer engaged in my eavesdropping, so I finished my beer, paid my bill, and walked back out into the rain.  I was happy to leave, because it meant I didn't have to endure the awkward stabs at conversation that my server/bartender thought were necessary.  It also allowed me to leave the conversation the two others were having, which had turned into a discussion about Chinese writing and language.  I wanted to jump in and correct both of them on numerous occasions, but resisted.

My night alone in the bar wasn't the emotional garlic press I've been waiting to have, probably because the bar was full rather than empty, well-lit instead of dark, and non-smoking instead of heavily socked-in.  I also wasn't soul-searching, but was instead quite content.

It was still an interesting experience, but didn't quite sate my desire for the dark, empty, smoky bar environment and the accompanying mental unrest.  Maybe I'll never have to experience that though, and I'll wager that will be a good thing.