You have to wait 21 years for the privilege of learning about people. You will find no more truthful person above the age of five than you will at the bar. You will find no bigger liar than you will at the bar. You will find love, heartache, loneliness, and elation at the bar. You will find quick tempers, bruised egos, generous and agonized souls at the bar. You will find great senses of humor and know-it-alls and the barely literate at the bar.

You can also find excellent examples of these in almost any church pew, but I’ve found that you get to know them much more quickly over a Miller Light than a hymnal.

Once upon a time, at a bar in Gatlinburg that has been closed for at least ten years, the bartender said something that has stuck with me forevermore. “Don’t ask, just pour.”

I was eating twenty-five cent wings. It was Monday. I had been at work all day. His wisdom was beyond his years. I did want more beer, but I don’t think he was only referring to my empty glass. A good bartender knows to let the patron initiate conversation. I didn’t want to talk about why I was at the bar without my boyfriend. I didn’t want to talk about my crappy day spent waiting on the ungrateful spoiled public. I didn’t want to do anything but sit right there on my barstool and drink till the world got just a little blurry.

Then it would look better.

I’ve sat at many bars over the years. I tend to travel alone by choice, and the bar is a welcoming place. If you don’t want to talk to anyone, sit in the corner. Don’t make eye contact. Pretend you don’t speak English. (Had to do that in Vegas. It was excruciating). You don’t draw as much attention to yourself as you do sitting alone at a table. If you don’t want the pitying looks that one would get on a Saturday night, the bar is your best option.

Recently, I met a bartender with fake eyelashes who played football. She was a she, was a she, was a she. She was from Del Rio, if that explains it. She was going to spend New Year’s watching the ball drop in NYC. Several years ago, moving from my spot next to a touchy guy to one that looked much less invasive, I met a nice guy who’d been to the funeral of his grandmother. He bought all my drinks, and all my friends’ drinks. It was a substantial bill. He didn’t ask for any of our phone numbers. I don’t know what he was looking for, but we drank together and had a nice conversation.

I could write a thousand stories of all the people I’ve met in bars, all the friendships I’ve cultivated over drinks. I don’t have many pictures commemorating these events, because when you’re there, and in it, you’re having too good of a time to worry about pictures.

I hope I’ll never forget all the awesome times I’ve had with all walks of life in a thousand different bars all over this country. And I’ve been there with many of you!

Go out some weeknight….I challenge you to sit at the bar. Maybe you’ll meet someone new who has a good story. Maybe you’ll sit next to me and I can tell you one.