There’s no such thing as a 24-hour nonstop bar in England. The pubs shut at 11 p.m. — and each year thousands of drunks stumble upon their future spouse at the kebab shop or in the taxi queue. Without this government-mandated departure, I suspect the English would stop procreating altogether.
The Czechs take a different approach, with some bars never closing at all. Intrigued by what I might find there, I decided to visit one.
I entered the nonstop to find the barmaid “washing” glasses in the sink, i.e., rinsing them with cold water and shaking them dry. Waiting for her to acknowledge me, I counted the number of times I heard the words “Ty vole”(“shit”). The final count was 11, which sounds a lot until you consider the time it took her to serve me.
Eventually, she relented and pushed my beer between two sleeping heads. “Třícet” (thirty), she growled. I barely registered her rudeness: I was busy marvelling at her voice — she’d decided using her lips was a complete waste of energy and now spoke from her throat instead. Accepting my 50 Czech crowns, she declared, “Nemám drobné” (I don’t have change.) “Tak, co děláme?” (“So what shall we do?”) She shrugged and walked off, almost prompting me to bring the count to 12.
How to describe the atmosphere in the nonstop bar? In a word: smoky. A perpetual haze hung in the air and everyone squinted to adjust to it. I did my best to hide my electronic cigarette, because it felt like I’d brought a banana to a gunfight.
The dank surroundings reminded me of a friend in his first flat. A few days after moving in, he showed me around, proudly pointing to his new ashtray, the sparkling oven, and thriving houseplant. A month later the ashtray was overflowing, the oven was covered in grime, and the houseplant was dead in the corner. He now stayed with his parents at the weekends. He said he found himself craving a nice clean chair, a warm cup of tea, and a pair of comfortable slippers.” And that’s exactly how I felt in the nonstop bar.
On my way to the restroom, I passed an electronic darts machine. This always is a warning sign, because it means the clientele can’t be trusted with real darts. In some British pubs, the customers can’t be trusted with real glasses either. Anytime plastic versions replace the real thing you know you’re in trouble.
The non stop’s restroom prompted a philosophical conundrum: all of the toilet components were present, but smashed and strewn around. Is a toilet still a toilet if none of its parts are connected? The definition feels inaccurate, a bit like calling wood a wardrobe.
I returned to my beer and pondered what might happen if nonstop bars arrived in the UK. British people tend to drink as quickly as they can before the pub closes. If this pace were applied to a nonstop bar… well, you can imagine the results. Czech people have a healthier approach to drinking: sure, they can drink all day and night if they want, but no self-respecting Czech would ever do that — would they?
*First published in Milk & Honey, České Budějovice, Czech Republic