“People are happy with their view as long as the tables are not turned.”
Story Art — the bar owner who puts everything on the line to prove a point.
This particular Restaurant wasn’t really the easiest to access. It was tucked into the corner of a shopping mall. Upstairs. Nestled between a laser tag centre and a cinema. So it is not as if you’d happen to walk by and decided to drop in for a meal. If you were eating there, you intended on coming there.
And this Friday evening, the only reason Red and his group of mates decided to go to this Restaurant was because of the $10 cocktail night they had on. “All cocktails $10!” had been advertised around the mall.
It had been some time since the group of them had got together. In fact Red couldn’t remember the last time they were all free to catch up. All 10 of them. With kids, family gatherings, and work calling — there was always someone unavailable. So on this rare occasion, there was plenty of pre-catchup banter in their group chat. Everyone brimmed with excitement.
“Mate, are you fuckin’ kidding me?”, Red snapped at the guy behind the counter at the Restaurant.
“I’m sorry, but that’s just how our deal works. It is the $10 special price for ladies only”, responded the counter guy. “I can only do cocktails for $17 for your group.”
The vein on Red’s forehead twitched. His nostrils flared to allow for his sudden heavy breathing.
Had it been any other night, with one phone call, the guy behind the counter would have been without a job, and blacklisted from working at any bar or restaurant in the city. But this time, Red decided to bite his tongue. He shook his head in disgust and walked back to the table to join the rest of his mates.
No one in the group ordered cocktails that evening. And no one particularly had much else to drink. Even though only one of them had driven, everyone else had caught a cab, the plan was to have a heavy night.
But once you know there is a ceiling, you just don’t rise that high anymore.
Making use of the rare occasion and being a generally jovial bunch — they laughed, joked, bantered, and enjoyed each other’s company. They ate a good meal and made their way home. Red, however, walked away with a sour taste in his mouth.
The Restaurant had ruined their night.
Red spends the majority of his life as a night owl. He owns and operates a bar in the CBD. His bar is one of the most popular in the city. On a typical Saturday night it is rare if a line doesn’t snake its way down the street with people waiting hours to enter. Red knows everyone in the industry and everyone knows Red.
That evening, as he got home, he sat in his chair with his feet up, swirling his drink in his hand. His usual nightcap — a splash of water and a double shot of the finest single-malt he had available. The ticking of the old vintage clock on his wall served as the metronome for his thoughts. He couldn’t get the incident out of his mind. He was still fuming, he didn’t know why it bothered him so much. But it did.
He put down his empty glass and decided that he would turn the tables. It was likely an emotionally charged decision. It was likely one that he would regret. But so be it.
He made a phone call, gave the instructions. And it was done.
The next evening as the crowds rolled into his bar. Scantily dressed women and v-neck wearing gym heads crowded the double wooden doors at its entrance. Red stood in the shadows watching on.
It didn’t take long before chaos broke. That phone call he made the night before was to instruct his team to increase all drink prices. But guys were to be given a discount and could pay the original price. Girls had to pay the new inflated price.
The outcry was immediate, beyond what he could have anticipated. The intensity of hate, the obscenities being yelled at the bar tenders, and the flurry of angry statuses on social media became ubiquitous. Red had hit a nerve. Groups of women stormed out of the bar, one after the other, like a parade. Crowds gathered outside to get a glimpse of the action.
Red stood there as a statue, feeling the constant vibration in his pocket. A glance at his phone at the end of the night showed him a total of 117 missed calls. All which he ignored and went to sleep.
Oppression, sexism, disparagement, inequality and a whole barrage of hate-driven labels were all he heard the next day. Feminist groups were doing the media rounds and his bar was the platform on which they stood to cry and scream about their marginalisation.
Red remained quiet. He said nothing to no one. He accepted no media interviews or made any public comments. He knew that all this group was seeking, like other radicals, was more fuel to add to their fire. He felt no sympathy for their whining. In a first world country, they didn’t really have a point, aside from the fact that feeling victimised is a great source of attention. And can help get many likes on social media.
People are happy with their view as long as the tables are not turned.
So, after the dust started to settle, Red commissioned for a large banner to be hung up outside his bar facing the walk-by street traffic. It had the headline in big bold letters that said “Since the opening of this bar”, which was followed by a tally.
“Ladies nights = 35, Complaints = 0”
“Guys nights = 1, Complaints = 3,500”
Red had made his point. Even though it may have been at the peril of his successful bar.
Discrimination isn’t always a one-way street.
Story Art is a new genre of art, one that brings the two most powerful ways of spreading a message for the past 5,000+ years — storytelling and art. The art is illustrations sourced from some of the greatest illustrators. The stories I write myself.
For more of my story arts — check them out here.
Or if you prefer a little email reminder — I send a weekly story art via email to help change the way you live life — click here for MORE…
