Bars, a matter of class

While in some areas of Palma the bar scene is hectic, with beautiful people on the weekends and the cash registers are boiling with money, the grandparents at the Palma Nursing Home must meet in a desolate place where, to get a coffee, you have to try your luck with one of those machines that usually serve dirty water.

When I was reading Jaume Cladera's article on the lack of a bar in this residence –more than two years ago–, I first thought it was nothing, that a bar is something frivolous, unnecessary, an unimportant complement to life. But then I reflected—I tend to come to simple conclusions and then reflect—and I tried to imagine what it must be like for the seniors in the nursing home not to have a decent space to socialize, to have a decent drink, to talk, argue, and laugh with the murmur of the coffee maker in the background.

Bars are also a matter of social class, and it seems the pensioners don't have enough class to enjoy them. I like the somewhat dirty neighborhood bars, with the TV on, old-fashioned chairs and tables, a metal bar, and the regulars in their own space. I go to bars during the day, to smell the coffee and toast, and to flip through an oil-stained newspaper. They are places with affordable prices. Popular is the opposite of elitist; it means for ordinary people, those who struggle to make ends meet, or don't make it at all.

I don't like designer bars, the ones that play jazz just for looks, full of beautiful people whose outfits I couldn't afford with a month's salary. They serve drinks at prohibitive prices, with prestigious brands. They're lit up with LED lights, and people dance with great style and take selfies to later show off what a glamorous place they've been to—we'll talk about how humiliating selfies are for the people taking them another day.

In my bars, there's usually someone on the plastic chairs on the terrace with their dog, waiting for a piece of something. Older ladies wear fancy eyebrows, and some even smoke. And there are tables where politics are debated in terms of dubious impropriety. Mid-morning, the delivery man arrives with a wheelbarrow full of beer kegs or cartons of packaged juice.

A bar like this is what should be in a nursing home. With bags of potato and tortilla tapas and meatballs to snack on before eating.