Bar Hopping

“Where are you running to?”

The bouncer stopped us, and with his soft Polish accent, asked us again. “Where are you running to?”

The four of us were taken aback.

Edric moved a bit closer and said, “Um, we’re going to the bar. Isn’t it obvious?”

“You all are very much aware that it is a gay bar, right?”

Pow. I didn’t expect that. I thought we will all be relaxing and taking our time off at a straight bar in Soho. Yes, there are a couple of straight bars and pubs in Soho as well.

“Well, you look very young. Below 18, actually,” the bouncer said in his unmoving poker face. “Can I have a look of your identifications please.”

Even though his English will make someone from Katipunan laugh till God knows when, it’s not the right moment to even snicker. I don’t have my passport with me, but I have my Oyster card that says I am an 18+ student.

The three of us were through with our Oyster. Except for one. Edric. His laminated version of his school ID was not enough, and his Oyster card doesn’t say that he’s 18+ because he has the old version.

“But I’ve been here a couple of times and I haven’t been checked.” He reiterated.

“Sorry, rules are rules.” The ruthless bouncer just stood there triumphantly, having picked upon his preys for the night.

“Leave it, let’s just go somewhere else shall we?” He ushered.

Now, it would be ok if it all went perfectly. The problem is, we have two companions who are absolutely clueless with regard to Soho’s vibrant and colourful nightlife.

With us, were Gene, and Art.

-----

After that trip to Oxford earlier that day, I’ve had enough. No one’s really right for me, maybe.

And since we’ve already finished visiting all the sights before 6pm, we decided to go back to London a bit earlier than our actual booked time. And I was sweating when the conductor checked our tickets. Good thing he didn’t check it very rigorously.

Upon returning to the bustling city, the gang kept on pressing me to go to the bar where I fuckin’ lost my phone and unwind there.

And I can’t tell them, because if I bring them to Village, then, hell will break loose.

So, there we were, looking for a bar that seems to have a kind bouncer on the entrance. Since when did kind and bouncer go hand in hand?

We managed to enter Bar Soho without the bouncer’s questioning, but alas, the bar was too noisy with its booming surround speaker system and was kind of cramped with no places to sit and have a nice chit-chat.

We had to go out and look for a quieter one. I was on the verge of spilling my secret out by leading them to Village (which had a 50% off on drinks on a Monday), but then, something caught my eye.

Glee night, on Ku Bar in Frith Street.

Yeah, even though Ku Bar is a gay one as well, the poster seemed to show that it’s a harmless bar that can welcome us, since I have straight companions with me. But um, how can we be sure about that?

I threw a smile on the bouncer, and it worked. He smiled back and let us all in.

After getting the drinks from that very cute bartender, we went up and sat on one of the couches. We drank, but at the same time, talked about the meaning of the rainbow flag plastered outside Ku Bar.

Art asked me to get some technology magazines, since he saw a couple of them by the stairs. I was about to get one when I secretly giggled.

They were not tech magazines. They’re gay ones, with all the topless hunks on its front cover.

I can’t risk it. I don’t fancy giving it to him and be shocked by the guys who ooze with sheer sexiness.

----

After a couple more shots of tequila, it was time to go, with the three of them ensuring that all of my gadgets were still with me.

My head’s hurting but I was still wary of the surroundings and what the three were talking.

I bade them farewell as they went down Tottenham Court Road station. I made an excuse that I’ll take the bus instead. Unknowingly to them, I decided to have a drink for a few more hours.

The tequila must’ve seeped into my rationale thinking when I decided to go back to Wardour Street, and enter Village again, for the second time this month.

Just for fun, I decided to check how high (or really low) my face value was, by checking if someone would approach me to have a chat as the night would pass by.

I looked like a fool after ordering that cider and sitting in one corner, eyeing all the cute guys passing by. At the front were a young Oriental talking (and going really chummy) with the 40-ish Caucasian. Sitting beside me were two young Caucasian guys kissing torridly on occasions. Sitting on my left were a bloke and a gal, drinking with their rose.

I got so embarrassed when the night went by without someone approaching me, and I felt even more humiliated when the girl sitting beside me asked, “Are you ok?”

I just have her thumbs up, and she replied, “Don’t worry, be happy.”

Oh dear. I must’ve looked awful. I quickly gulped my small bottle of cider and decided to call it a night to prevent further humiliation.

And at that moment in time, as I sat on the upper deck on Bus N89, an epiphany had struck like lightning.

What the hell were Art and Gene thinking when Edric and I brought them to gay bars?

Am I already out?

And most importantly, since no one approached me it meant only one thing.

I don’t have any face value at all.