Mango Lassis and Chaitinis
In Defence of the Pub as a “Third Place”
I can’t remember my first visit to the pub, but I do remember ordering my first pint at one of the locals in my high school town.
Your first (legal) pint in a public house is a rite of passage for many young people growing up in the UK; and in rural areas, it’s a graduation from the anxiety of either trying to sneak into your dodgy local, resorting to house parties, or drinking saccharine cider on some farmer’s property (fellow countryside dwellers - insert field, barn, or dilapidated stable here - whatever takes your fancy).
I relocated to Glasgow from the Scottish Borders earlier this year. Having grown up in the Borders, moving to Edinburgh for my undergraduate degree felt exciting, but before long I found myself back at my childhood home, and with it local pubs, thanks to the pandemic. I’m no stranger to a pub, yet there was always one thing I had to be weary of: old, drunk white men. As a young Scottish-Indian woman, pubs are not always the friendliest of “third places” for us. At times, going to the pub has brought on many worries: unnerving stares, racist cat-calling, or being pulled into unwanted political “debates”, to name a few.
“I’ve often had to consider whether I’d be welcome in certain places where I would be in the minority - both in terms of gender and race.”
The term “third place” was first coined by Ray Oldenburg, defined as a communal place outside of your work and home. Though it’s worth noting that Oldenburg was targeting an American audience; where rapid changes in the western workplace in the 1980s meant communal spaces were increasingly in danger.
Communal spaces vary globally, variations that Oldenburg did not take into consideration. I’ve often had to consider whether I’d be welcome in certain places where I would be in the minority - both in terms of gender and race. Over the years, I managed to find places that I felt I could return to every so often, but they never truly felt like a local, like my third place. And when Covid hit, like many others , I took to saving money. Homes became places of both work and socialisation; the third place disappeared.
Fed up with being inside all the time, moving to Glasgow made me want to discover “a local”. So when my friend took me to The Maverick, and I saw not one, not two, but three South Asian bartenders, I found myself overcome with joy, I’d never seen this before in my life, I immediately wanted to befriend these three bartenders. And with that I resolutely made my decision: The Maverick was now my local.
There’s a lot of discourse surrounding representation, particularly in the workplace or on screen. What isn’t discussed as much is what it means to see people like you in the day to day of your life, Working in the Film and TV industry myself, I’ve thought extensively about representation in both mediums, but I hadn’t thought so much about who was working in the pub until I walked into The Maverick. Dharsie, one of the bartenders from India - who’s now a friend of mine - told me that she “loved talking to people” and had “never had any problems” working there. This was surprising and refreshing for me to hear.
Helen Anne Smith
I’ve now become accustomed to alcoholic mango lassis and Chaitinis; it may not be groundbreaking to some, but I didn’t expect to find such offerings on my doorstep. It certainly beats my usual rum and apple,I just can’t say no to some Malibu; there are some basic “white girl traits” that are just too good to dismiss.
Going to the pub is not always cheap, a symptom of the increasingly costly society we live in. Arguably, the loss of the third place didn’t start with the pandemic; but with the genesis of late capitalism, an attention-based economy fuelled by overworked and underpaid “hustlers”. Oldenburg identified this issue in the modern working world as early as the 1980s. People are working longer hours, yet we’re making less money. If you can socialise at home, going to your local suddenly doesn’t seem so attractive. Netflix and chill replaced Sex on the Beach long ago. Now, 18-25 year olds are the least likely to have any type of third space at all.
Yet, I didn’t realise how much I needed this third space myself until recently. Working from home was making me restless in ways I didn’t know; the very act of having somewhere to go after work, something to look forward to, would instantly make myself feel better. As someone with quite a bit of social anxiety, having a space like The Maverick puts me at ease, and you don’t have to always drink alcohol; the choice of non-alcoholic drinks here means you don’t always have to worry about a hangover (an option I should probably choose more frequently.)
The Maverickhas given me the experience that many of my friends had before in pubs - friendship; familiarity; but most importantly, safety. I don’t have to think twice about going in on certain occasions - such as when the football is on - or even when it’s getting a little late at night. Until a few months ago, I wouldn’t so ardently be defending pubs as third places, but now I can’t imagine not doing so. But after all this, my fellow youngins still might be wondering: why should I invest in finding a third place at all if I can go home, and why should it be my local pub? For a start, research has found that having a common space can help with your mental health,you’ll almost inevitably strengthen your current friendships, or find new ones. So take a wonder to a pub near you: it might just be your cup of tea - or should I say glass of “Chaitini”?
