The Men's Bar

So, it being so cold today I had to resort something hot. And since my job as a forever nomad means I can never have coffee anywhere, I just drove myself to the Church Square in Zejtun. I do not know Zejtun very well, so I figured I would maybe find myself a coffee over there. And I did. In a men's' bar. One of those shady bars which our mums have always warned us never to walk by let alone walk in. But the dire situations in life, such as freezing cold, makes us go against mummy's warnings. If it was the only place I was getting myself a coffee, then so be it. And I gingerly made my way in. Top marks to this men's' bar for welcoming me in, with an "Ghaddi Sinjura". I never got that not even at Giorgio's in Sliema. Another thing was it seemed the man behind the bar knew exactly what I wanted, just asked me if it was tea of coffee I wanted, and produced it in no time, with a smile, and a parental sort of way as in, "Ixrob hi ghax il-bard, u issa naghmillek iehor ukoll." Wow. As for the other men in the bar, which my mother always portrayed as being ill mannered murderers, rapists, frauds, criminals and pimps, they were absolutely nothing of the sort. They talked to me as if I were an old friend, and since one of them recognised me as 'oht t'Arani Issa', they suddenly were family. Now I don't usually like that comment, but this man bragged on how he used to watch me on 'Nies ta' veru' during my piano spots, and bragged as if his life depended on it... that I was a pro, and a maestra. That's what he said. Finally, I had found what I was looking for, the exact ambiance I wanted... in a what was supposed to be a shady men's' bar. One coffee turned to three, and my time was up. I got up to pay, and the barkeeper didn't even want a Euro cents because as he stated, "Hux inzommlok sabiha, inzommlok ta' naqa' cafe'?" Oh God this must be heaven on earth, as I said to myself. I get three coffees on the house, some decent conversation, I get wooed and respected and called beautiful. Ok I'm trying to see if there is some form of vacancy over there. And all this in a place which I had mean warned a million times not to frequent because my delicate feminine ears might hear some heavy swearing. Oh dear mum, you have it all wrong. There was not on swear word in sight. And no, I don't care who saw me go in there either, even if it means that I do not have the title of a lady anymore. I don't even know why it's called a men's' bar and why we girls have given the very wrong impression of what goes in there. I was treated like a lady. Which is a lot more than I can say for a lot of other places. I'll go back next week, and the next, and the next.