Lucid Thoughts

March 10, 2026

I am, as one might describe, a “regular” at the bar around the corner from my house. My roommate and I seek refuge there when we get bored of each other’s presence. Most times we go alone, but sometimes we bring friends. Last weekend we went with about six other people. Drinks were flowing, vibes were high, and everybody was throwing whatever on whoever’s tab. I was there for two hours. I had only one cider. 

I ended up leaving before everybody else did, which is not uncommon of me. We usually share tabs and whoever didn’t pay this round either gets the next one or sends money. I left without paying for my cider because I knew it would be on one of their tabs and paid for – something we always do.  

Loyalty perks have earned us at least one drink taken off our tab every visit. In return, we tip them 50% and sometimes we’ll bring them presents. A symbiotic relationship, if you will.  

In full transparency, I knew the bartenders would have taken the cider off the bill. 

Last night we went back, as we always do. I was there to hang out with my roommate and share some laughs with the bar team like normal. I had to be up early this morning for work, so I chose not to drink. Immediately, the one bartender, we’ll call him Karl, approached me to explain that he didn’t want me to be surprised when I saw the cider that I “walked out” on the other night added to whatever I got that night – which was a ginger ale by the way. I apologized and admitted I had assumed it would have been taken care of by one of my friends. He told me I needed to learn to never assume.  

This interaction was enough to rub me the wrong way.  

Later, when my roommate paid for the tab I asked the other bartender, we’ll call him Mark, if I could pay for the cider – it wasn’t on the tab and Karl wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Mark, who we’ve grown very close with, rolled his eyes at Karl’s decision and harmlessly told me that after I left the other day he tried to take care of the cider as he usually does because we always help each other out, but Karl said I “needed to learn a lesson” and was to pay for it the next time they saw me.  

I was dumbfounded by this statement, and my female rage was unleashed upon hearing it. 

I needed to learn a lesson? 

I bit my tongue so that I wouldn’t appease the stereotypical emotional response and feed into his lesson plans. Although, I couldn’t help myself from making some sly remarks to my roommate. I was hurt.  

I am sick of men feeling the need to teach me a lesson.  

I’ve been taught more “lessons” by men than I have in classrooms. This particular one was intentional with the assumption that I wanted to learn, and if I didn’t, I had no choice but to.   

It could be that maybe he thought he was funny, “ha I’ll teach her a lesson!”. His humor is arrogant like that, almost like that of a cartoon villain. It could also be that he began to receive backlash for giving me too many free drinks, which I would be understanding of. However, that was debunked when I learned he took off at least two drinks for each of my friends’ tabs that night. It could just be that he’s a man in a society systematically biased toward men and he has no idea how those comments and actions can deeply impact a woman. 

Because in that moment, suddenly I was 15 again, having a normal teenage outburst being video recorded for proof of being “too reactive”. Then I was in college begging my ex to stop screaming at me in front of all his friends after he flipped my dining room table because he thought I was “crazy”. And then I was in my new job position reporting my boss for saying a woman wouldn’t feel safe working in his space because his staff liked to “talk about pussy all day”. Then I was waking up again naked in a random man’s bed covered in blood and wounds with no memory of what happened the night before.  

And then there I was yesterday, being ridiculed at the bar for an $8 cider.  

I ended up sobbing in my bed after getting home because his “lesson” reminded me of too many instances of being talked to or treated differently simply for being a girl.  

The more confidence I gain in my femininity, the more microaggressions I notice towards it. 

I hate that I’m letting myself be so bothered by this situation because that’s what a man wants: a woman to feel powerless or belittled. Just because she’s pretty doesn’t mean she can get whatever she wants every time! How crazy of her to assume! If a man has power in navigating a woman’s reactions, her reactions give him excuses to feel secure in his attacks – even subtle, unimportant ones.  

Female rage is a slang concept, but I find it beautiful when performed. A woman’s reactions are what make her powerful. When she expresses her emotions, she feels on top of the world. If it’s not safe to express them, she’s able to mask them and suppress them to protect herself and the image of an “emotional” woman. She understands how her words and actions are intended, but that their impact may differ from her intentions. She can control herself. 

Of course there are outliers: women who enjoy being submissive and choose to praise male privilege. I sympathize with them because they’ve probably never had the opportunity to fully grasp their femininity, only living in a world where men run the system and they don’t know any better. It’d be nice to be ignorant to such a flawed dyamic. Either that or those women have some weird kinks, and if that’s the case, then all the power to them. However, it’s these outliers that permit men to behave like this is a normal dynamic.  

I’ll probably take a long break from that bar, if I ever return.  

I felt small, helpless, and trapped like a little girl immediately throwing up a shield. The circumstances of these emotions emerging are irrelevant; I couldn’t care less about paying for that cider. I do care that this man intentionally singled me out to try to make me feel a certain way. I hate that it worked.  

Perhaps I’m just a girl, reacting irrationally and leading with my emotions. Perhaps I’m projecting my own trauma on to others and feel the need to stand up for myself and every woman to ever exist because of the things I’ve been through.  

I’ll sit with my reaction to this for a while, questioning if I feel empowered by my emotions or if I really just embody the perceptions of a stereotypical woman.