Minimalistic designs, with black tiles as floors and around four white tables and sofas laid in a straight line. The ivory walls held a few cheap looking acrylic paintings that I could tell were there for pretentious aesthetics. The very far end wall from me had a wooden table with a glass pot filled with what looked like counterfeit flowers, ranging from lilies, daisies and of course, roses, right next to a small picture frame on the table with a picture I couldn't see from here. I couldn't look further at the backend from where I stood but judging by the existence of a corner there probably was a toilet or something around there.
Behind the black marbled bar with red-cushioned round chairs standing tall as seats, there was a man, greeting me with a smile while drying the glass cups with a white napkin.
"Didn't expect to see someone so soon."
The man looked quite young, wearing a black shirt, and as I glanced a little over the bar, also a black pair of slim fit jeans. I couldn���t quite look at his shoes, but seeing I also guess black just from the atmosphere of the bar alone. It was his work suit I guess, although I can't quite say he fit it all too well. I don't know if it was due to his height - relatively short compared to most of the men I met - or the brightly lit wooden display full of bottles of various beverages, but he seemed to stick out like a sore thumb, not fitting into the nice and neat minimalistic feeling of the bar.
Messy black hair that could 'resemble' a wolf cut, the small eyes slightly slanted down, the big and round, circular glasses - fitting straight on top of his somewhat sharp nose - further amplified by his somewhat small face. The skin I couldn't quite tell whether it was good or not, I guess due to the bright lightings of the bar highlighting his whole face. Having said that, I could clearly pick out some cracks in his skin that I could tell were indications of its dryness.
Not a bad looking boy, but not a good looking boy either. That was my rating of him. A 5 out of 10. Straight C to low B grade max.
"You okay?"
He snapped me out of my scanning. His voice wasn't all that bad. It was pretty deep yet quite clear. That could bump his rating up a little bit, although not by that much.
"Oh yes, I was just admiring the design of the bar. Are you guys new?"
I smiled at him with a bright voice.
"Well, we just opened a couple of weeks ago actually. We're still refining things though."
His eyes were going back and forth between me and the glass cup he was drying up.
Back and forth, back and forth. As if I was just another customer, he didn't seem to care for more than that. It annoyed me a little.
"Do you get a lot of customers?"
I spoke softly. I'll play the potential loyal customer if he says no, and I'll play the potential 'competitive customer' if he says yes.
"We do actually, I was quite surprised. Suppose because we're relatively new."
The latter I suppose.
"You reckon you'd have a spot for a one more loyal? I love the designs of this bar."
I looked around to arbitrary places. Vodka bottles. Bar tables. Sofas. Displays of wine glasses put upside down. Him. His eyes. I smile. I knew I had a beautiful one. I knew I could make him shake a little with this one. Perhaps plague him with - "maybe I can get close to this beautiful lady if I flirt with her well enough" thoughts. I had to have the upper hand. I couldn't stand not having one.
But the response I got wasn't quite the one I expected. He chuckled, no, he laughed, and simply fixed his glasses, carrying on with his drying, muttering, enough to seem like he's talking to himself but enough to seem like he's talking to me - almost like he's simply thinking out loud - he said:
"If you only out tip my current number one."
I felt the faint hairs at the back of my neck stand up. I panicked a little bit. I felt the waves inside my stomach roar and his words made me want to bite my nails.
Non-attention. This is what this man was going to give me. This little man, probably barely in his 170s, probably only a year or so older or younger than me, was going to dare to respond with such apathy.
No. I theorise that he's scared. Those who have been lacking do not know the feeling of being fulfilled. In the same vein, he probably doesn't quite grasp the idea that someone of my caliber can approach someone like him. People learn from experiences after all, and I doubt that his experiences with women - as little as I care about them - can ever match the sort of interactions someone like me can provide. To me it was simple common sense.
"If I said I'd come here very often for just a bit of a chat-" I'll set it up for him. I'll perhaps make it a bit less difficult.
"Would you turn me away?"
Head tilt a little to the left, arms folded graciously, but not intimidatingly. I wanted to keep the posture gentle. The bright smile didn't work, so this time I'll go for a more of a soft glare. He looked at me for a bit, he looked at me very carefully in the eyes. I looked at him back, and before I was sure I had him, he simply put his eyes back on his glass cups, and said with a smile:
"No I won't turn you away of course,"
Pure relaxation. Like he wasn't even phased. Wasn't even phased! What got me was the phrase he followed up with.
"But the bar owner could if you don't pay for anything but come all the time!"
The laughter from him sounded absolutely idiotic, a clown's chuckle. But above all, what was more idiotic was this situation. It's not the rejection that I fear. I was sure I was a rational woman who takes criticisms and rejections very well. But the whole dynamic changes if the rejections come from someone below me. He was only a bartender. He was a 5 out of 10.
I was something more than that, yet he didn't even accept my advances when I offered them.
"I'll come, when I have the chance to. But only if you have a space for me.��
I gave him one more chance.
"No booking available, but come on the day and we'll see what we can do."
He kicked it away once more.
As I was walking out of the bar, I felt tears swelling up on my face.
I was furious.