Every day feels the same. I go to my favorite bar. I say bar, but it’s not a bar. It’s a chain restaurant that people mainly go to to eat gyoza. There’s no “bar”, there’s no older guy behind the bar who will listen to whatever is bubbling inside me that I know no one really wants to hear. There’s a restaurant that’s too bright, tables that look too clean or too plastic or too something. There’s me walking in sheepishly, avoiding eye contact with the staff who is an international student from somewhere in southeast Asia, meekly muttering “for one”, and after being told I can sit wherever I want, sitting in the same seat that I always do.

I don’t need to look at the menu, but I look at it anyways. I don’t want to let on that I don’t need to look at the menu, that I not only have it memorized, but also that as soon as I found a comfort zone in the same food that I like, I would never actually order anything else. A highball, 6 pieces of gyoza, and some kimchi. The kimchi made me feel a little adventurous when I first ordered it, but that was already over a year ago, and I come here almost daily.

Today starts the same. I finish work, and I think I would have my “dinner” , a highball, some gyoza and some kimchi, at my usual place. I walk in, don’t look at the international student staff, say for one, and sit where I always sit. I grab the menu without thinking about it, and without looking at it, staring off into space, think about something that I had done that day that perhaps I shouldn’t have done, or something that I shouldn’t have said.

I regain awareness of my surroundings, and I notice the woman beside me, not a student, is drinking a beer. Something about her sweater makes me fixated on it for an instance, and when the server comes, I mistakenly order a beer instead of my usual highball. As soon as I snap out of my trance, notice that I was staring at the woman’s sweater, embarrassed, hoping she didn’t think that I was leering at her, I realized that I had ordered a beer instead of a highball. I had stopped drinking beer because I thought it would be healthier to drink a highball. I think about correcting myself, and changing to a highball, but I didn’t want anything to think I would have made a mistake, and it would be saying something outside of the limited sentences I can say while sounding fluent. I didn’t want to break any illusion that I was actually not fluent, that I was just like everyone else. Today I would have a beer.

For whatever reason, this affects me more than I should, having to drink a beer when I’m trying to lose weight. Never mind I haven’t actually exercised in months, and that I was planning to eat gyoza. I feel that when the stupid beer finally comes that I should have a big swig. Perhaps that will also impress the woman beside me? You never know.

I haven’t ordered any food yet. I usually order the gyoza and kimchi with my highball, but as I ordered a beer, I forgot to do so. I decide to look at the menu and see again what there actually is on it. Doing this I see that I didn’t have it memorized after all. I think about getting the staff’s attention, but I know that whenever I try to do so they don’t hear me, and I don’t want anyone to think that I am unable to get the staff’s attention.

When they come with my beer, I decide to order some fried octopus and wieners. No gyoza. No kimchi. Whatever, today would be different. Maybe the woman sitting beside me would be impressed that I can eat octopus. I think some people think that Westerner’s can’t eat octopus. It’ll show that I’m courageous and strong.

I decide to take a big swig of my beer. A real man takes a big swig, right? I grip the glass in what I think is a manly brisk way, close my eyes and bring the glass to my mouth. As I continue to swig more and more beer, I can only feel foam come into my mouth. I can’t stop drinking just at the foam, people might notice that, so I continue to drink, but eventually it’s too much. I put the glass down, somewhat exhausted, but try to not let anyone see that I am exhausted. I look at my beer glass, and see that I’ve already drunk three fingers or so of the beer. There should have only been about one or two fingers of foam on the beer, so I don’t get why I wasn’t able to get any actual beer. I quickly look to see if the woman beside me has noticed, and I don’t think she has. I regain my composure, and go to have another swig of beer, this time less to impress anyone, or for the beer itself, but more to just want to prove that I can actually drink beer. I grip the glass again in a manly brisk way (there’s no reason not to), I close my eyes and bring the glass to my mouth once again. Foam. There’s only foam again. It doesn’t make any sense.

My food comes. Forgetting to squeeze lemon on the fried octopus, I pick one up with my chopsticks, and eat it. It’s way too hot, and burning my mouth, and reflexively almost take a swig of my beer, but think against it, as I don’t want anyone to know that I can’t handle the hot octopus.

I go to have more of my beer, and it’s only foam again. Something seems off with the universe. I wasn’t supposed to order beer. I have another sip, and it’s only foam again. I glance at the lemon that came with the fried octopus, do an over-exaggerated gesture and laugh that I had forgotten to squeeze it on the octopus, pick the lemon up, cover it with my other hand so that the juice only goes on the octopus and doesn’t spray elsewhere, and squeeze it, as if I’m on a stage and the whole world is watching my every elegant action.

I go for more beer. More foam. No beer. The beer is now three quarters done. I think about drinking the beer while looking at the glass, or pouring a little bit into a bowl and drinking it from there, so that I can definitely have beer, but that would make me look weird, so I decide against it.

I see out of the corner of my eye two of my colleagues come in. One notices me and comes up to me.

“Hey! Didn’t you know that you like this place too! Good to see you! I could really kill for a beer, mind if I take a swig of yours? Thanks!”

The idiot said this all without allowing me to get a word in, and before I could say anything he grabs my beer and takes a hearty swig. His way of holding the glass wasn’t as manly as mine though.

After he sets down the glass he says, “that tasted great! It’s still quite cold. You must be a fast drinker!”

I say before having any time to think, “didn’t you only get foam?”

“What are you talking about? Look at it! Do you see any foam in here? You always were a quirky joker! Thanks for the swig! Anyways, K is waiting over there, and she hates to be kept waiting. Talk later!”

He didn’t get foam? He didn’t seem to be pretending. I figure that I must’ve imagined the entire thing, perhaps after having worked too hard, and finish off the rest of the beer.

It was all foam.

I leave the fried octopus and wieners. I don’t care what the woman beside me thinks. I pay my bill without saying good bye to my colleagues. I won’t go to this place again.