On this particular night, I ventured out to a new bar/pub in JAX in a side of town that I had not yet discovered to meet an old friend. It had been at least 4-5 years since I had seen this friend. This was a place she was well familiar with and in fact knew most, if not all, of the 10 people in the bar including the bartender. I sat at the corner end of the bar with her and her friend, so I had a vantage point from which I could see the entire bar/pub area (this positioning tactic has been referred to as a bit mob-like by several of my friends, but I like to be able to see the door along with everything else in the room...it decreases the chance of a sudden unexpected attack).
I immediately noticed that I was over-dressed in a hot pink t-shirt, navy blue coat, jeans, clean hair and loafers...everyone else seemed to be wearing torn and re-sewn denim vests/assorted faded, dark clothing items, ripped shirts, sitting with their old, shaking and blind dogs at their feet or in one hand while they drank with the other, etc...let your imagination wander from there.
I ordered a beverage and sipped while I spoke to and caught up with the old friend. As we talked I became increasingly suspicious that the other bar patrons were looking at me, but tried my best to ignore the idea-thinking myself paranoid or perhaps the looks were due to my blinding pink shirt in comparison to the unspoken expectation that only dark shades of clothing are worn in this establishment. Our conversation continued while I avoided making eye contact with the other patrons. I did however occasionally "scan" (others might call this an ocular assessment) the room looking both for any signs of a sudden attack and for additional proof that people were staring. I only found the latter.
Just as I was about to reach a point that would result in my addressing the bar about how impolite it is to stare at others, a woman approached me from the right side. She said, "Can you do me a favor? Can you give me a range?"
"Excuse me?" was my response, "what do you mean by range?"
"Well see, we got a bet running of how old you are, so can you give me a range of your age?"
"Umm, I can just tell you how old I am. (This is where I told her my age, but I'm not putting it in writing.)"
Immediately the woman yells at the bartender, telling him that he guessed the correct age. The friend I had been catching up with then yells at the bartender that his correct guess was not fair because he knew her age and this knowledge gave him a clue about my age.
Meanwhile I sat dumbfounded (guffaw might be a better description of my response to this situation) as to how I questioned my suspicion that the other pub patrons were staring AND how they organized a betting pool that encompassed everyone with relatively little noticeable movement. I also questioned the welcoming methods this bar employed in making new patrons feel welcome-and by welcome I mean awkward, alienated and UNwelcome. I felt that this called for a free beverage, which I did not receive, but the beverages were cheap and I did enjoy the rest of my night.
Warning: this is where they welcome you by staring at you, talking about you, and making assorted bets about you, but the beverages are cheap, enter at your own risk.
side note: I asked the woman what the guesses ranged from, to which she replied 20-50. The idea that someone thought I was 50 made me want to fight.
