from rscottjones

Here’s a #JulyReply2025, though a very belated one I never wrapped up and posted. Whoops!

Robert Birming recently blogged about his enjoyment of The International Bar in Sweden, and how it’s a bit more friendly than other watering holes in the country. I didn’t realize that “bar culture” was that much different in parts of Europe.

As an American, bars are one of the increasingly few public places remaining where striking up a conversation with a stranger is not uncommon¹. If you’re seated at the bar (as opposed to a table in the bar), it’s generally fair game to casually comment to someone nearby. In fact, chatting up the customers is often a big part of the bartender’s job.

This social tradition is so strong, in fact, that we often include stops at craft breweries and dive bars during our travels as it’s one of the best ways to chat with a local (we jokingly call it #LostNeededDirections). It’s a great little hack for learning more about the local area.

I happened across this video about loneliness in the US recently and was reminded of the important role that bars play in today’s America—at least when it comes to socializing with others.

And especially for older, single men. Whether for good or bad, the bar is at the heart of many of their social lives. Simply interacting with others, plus the relationships they make with fellow regulars and bar staff, and feeling like part of the “in crowd” all contribute to the sense that they’re part of a larger community.

When my dad ended up in the hospital with heart failure in 2020, it was his buddies at the Dubliner Pub that came to check on him. They did their own welfare checks when he hadn’t shown up when expected.

“Hey, anyone seen Norm recently?”

“Nope, and he didn’t answer my call this morning.”

“Yeah, I got voicemail too.”

“Hmm, let’s go check up on him.”

“Sure…but not until I’m done with my beer.”

(How I imagine the conversation at the Dubliner the day after my dad entered the hospital.)

I’m typing this at happy hour, where a longstanding group of 15-20ish regulars congregates. Most of these folks have been frequenting the same bar together for more than two decades now, occasionally switching venues as the local scene shifts or new bar owners take over. They organize a variety of sports betting pools, occasionally dine at each others’ houses, and drive each other to doctor appointments when they need a hand. But mostly, they hang out at the bar together.

After the time I spent here with my dad in his final years, I’ve been partially adopted into this crowd. They ask how my last trip went, rib me for my failed cooking attempts (of which there are far too many), and ask if I rode my bicycle over even in this summer heat (yes, yes I did).

For many of these folks, this is their primary social scene. While plenty of them drink more often than they should, they primarily show up to talk with their buddies, not drink their sorrows away. It’s their social time. A few of them show up and only drink NA beer, or get a soda instead; they’ll get a teasing comment or two from the peanut gallery, but no one actually cares.

Too many of us spend too much of our time on our phones. But here, most are focused on actual conversations, only glancing at their phone to look something up. Sure, they say they’re here to watch baseball on the bar TVs too, but they’re mostly here to chat with their bar friends while the game plays in the background. Even with people who are substantially different than themselves. Even with people who don’t share their politics (a bar is one of the last remaining places where there’s some sort of broad political mixing). Even with people they wouldn’t have stopped and said hello to in another context. But here? Yeah, they met at the bar, many of them decades ago, and that’s been enough to maintain these friendships.