There’s a slightly eerie feeling writing this week’s column amid 2022. Well, maybe not so when we reminisce on this year’s past for those who identify as women. The story I am going to tell of last weekend may not seem as important in the scheme of things, but I can’t shake off how last Saturday left me wondering.

After a month of hiatus from the inner worlds of New York, my friend and I ventured downtown to fill our many cups with sake. Late night plans of lounging at a bar, trying to hold tight to the France feeling of just living. 

It wasn’t long before our tables intertwined with the one parallel to us. The sake bar room is made up of tables, chairs, and endless sake supplies leaving only enough room for a lucky few. The rotation of bodies jumps from table to bar chairs to the outdoor smoking area. People with itching feet head for city exploration, making space for those who plan to slow buzz with the eclectic atmosphere. 

We were a part of the slow buzzers, along with our fellow table dwellers. The four of us chatted on and off, familiarizing ourselves with our names and personalities. There’s something so refreshing about having an innocent chat. 

Our new friends took their first leap to the bar, making room for new sake seekers. My friend and I continued sipping sake, waiting patiently for our turn to be ushered to the bar. The bartender/ server always had a seat for you before your table time was over. A seat and a body sat between our new friends and the only two empty seats left at the bar. Our time came to transition to the bar as we took our awaited seats on the corner facing our friends. The body and chair acted as a buffer while we determined if we were all shooting the shit or shooting our shot.

The night waned on as sake bombs took off around us. Conversation flowed between everybody at the bar. We became more acquainted with our new friends, the Swedish Jock and three-year Sake Local. Hours in the night had reached the New York hour, where time flows and moments last a lifetime. Between opening the broken bathroom door on a screeching woman and the interested eyes of the Swedish Jock, our friends made their way to seats beside us. 

After much deliberation and conversation between the four of us, I internally clocked my romantic disinterest in the American blond skier. He reminded me of my adolescence childishly mocking my high school guy friends. My libido remained unmoved, but the conversation was fun. Plus, we had already found Sake Local to be a lover of the green in his outside smoking area breaks without nicotine. We wanted to be their friends.

As the night teetered on, Sweden Jock began making moves. With every arm touch and lean, I took opposing sides, moving my arm from any skin-to-skin contact and shifting my body away from his close intentions. I felt no concern as we continued our chats. I brought in bystanders to join in on our conversations, making it known my focus is outside the bubble he was forming. My body language was determined to stay neutral, flowing with the room’s movement. The sake slowed and people prepped for their last exit. Sake Local asked for the bill, with some grumbling from his friend. As he started for the door, Sweden Jock stated his interest in staying. 

I looked at his contorted body, refusing to leave the seat, and explained we were also grabbing the bill and heading out. Though my words were obvious, his ears heard different. He asked where we would go next. The problem in the sentence is the word we.

He continued to explain sheepishly that we couldn’t go back to his friend’s place. I further asked why he couldn’t return. Wasn’t that where he was staying? He stated, after my disinterest in the first idea, we could go back to mine. At that moment, I felt the sake prepping to leave my body. I quickly snapped back, saying I was spending the rest of the night with my friend.

We promptly left, leaving him standing there, unsure of his next move. His friend had left after he shared his assumption with him that his night would end with me. In a world where I had encouraged this idea, this assumption wouldn’t have felt so unwelcome. 

Yet, I was sure I made no point of interest in the latter the entire night. The ending scene of the night left me wondering what I had done wrong. Was I too friendly? Too nice? I felt gross and embarrassed that one may have thought I reciprocated those feelings when I didn’t. I simply enjoyed the friendly company, but is that possible with men in bars anymore?

I knew there was no blame to be put on myself. Saying I had given the wrong impression would discourage my personality. I love conversation, especially with strangers. Learning about themselves and their background. I should be able to chat with others without the constant worry of giving the wrong impression. 

If I was interested, I would make it known. It was Sweden Jock’s demanding approach that led to my discomfort. The assumption was we’d be going home together without previous discussion or alluded intentions on my part. In the event he had read my body language wrong, he could have asked to see me again or asked to go to another bar or stay behind to have another drink to get to know each other better. Allowing me to give him a straightforward answer to his question of consent.

The assumption we’d have sex cornered me into oblivion. Despite all the effort and slow change being made in our society, situations of assumptions about sex at bars are still relevant. And it’s important to know no is an answer and you, being yourself, are not to blame. Sweden Jock’s belief we were leaving together may be immaturity, but it doesn’t stop the conversation of unwanted assumption. 

In case, you’re left feeling grossed by someone’s lack of social cues, use your friends as the buffers. Engage them in the conversation and state you’re leaving with them instead. Remind yourself your personality is not to blame for the miscommunication made. 

Last Saturday night left me wondering if we can make paternal friends at bars. Is a friendly chat possible or will there always be alternative motives? Or is there just a lack of consent for sexual assumption…

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