A guy walks into a bar. Then he must make a choice. Sit at a table or sit at the bar? I used to be a sit at a table guy, but now I’m a devotee of bellying up. To the bar. I prefer the social element, vantage point, and quality of service of sitting at the bar. I belly on up to where the action is.

Sitting at the Bar: the Social Element

If you’re craving some social interaction, obviously sitting at the bar is what you want to do. More people can sit with you at the bar than a lonely little two top, and there’s a professional with a modicum of social skills right there in front of you at all times. You won’t be left alone. A lot of us work at home these days, alone (possibly accompanied by Marc Maron or Terry Gross), and we need social interaction. We’re tribal beasts. It’s good for us to get out there and mix it up with other apes. Too much isolation can be bad for you; make you LOCO. Sitting at the bar is your salvation, brother, especially as a lunch break (don’t worry, Cedric, you can just order a Coke), or at 5:01 for a much-deserved happy hour. Even if you’re with a friend, sitting at the bar will up the social quotient. Sometimes you come to the bar alone, and want to be alone. You can do that at the bar, too. Just bring a book or poke away at your phone. Parking it at the bar has other advantages beyond the social.

The view for instance. Sitting at the bar raises you up above the lowly station of mere table level. With a deft pivot of the old sternocleidomastoids (hat-tip Tom Wolfe), you can scope the whole joint from your lofty perch. You’ve got the big mirror above the bar, too, to see everything behind you. I prefer the corner-most bar seat closest to the front door, the wall at my back (the lower right tip of the letter L, if you will). Is it a compulsion to keep an eye out for my enemies, or just the artist’s need to sponge up more visual data? That’s for me to know. But you must know this: the high seats at the bar will elevate your experience.

Sitting at the Bar Improves Service

Maybe the most important benefit of sitting at the bar: better service. This is huge, excuse me: yuge, especially in big cities where the limitless labor pool of overeducated, underemployed prima donnas allows in the service industry not so much cream to rise, but shit to float. A lousy server—and they are everywhere—can ruin your meal/drink/cronut—you name it. Bartenders are generally among the more professional employees in the service industry. They’re often an establishment’s top dogs, or at least near the top of the heap. They have to be more courteous and competent, as you’re right there in front of them. They can’t disappear in the back for 10 minutes, or pretend they don’t see you. (Oh, but some DO. And that, my friends is when you turn around and walk out.)  And having this essential player at your service eliminates the middleman (server), allowing you to get your drinks fast, and only the other bar-sitters to dilute your service, not a sprawling section of tables complete with shrieking babies and spoiled women with obscure dietary restrictions in full-on fuss mode. No, they don’t sit at the bar. They willingly sit at tables. Let them. Shhhh.

But 9 out of 10 times, sitting at the bar will get you better service, be it a quick drink, a full-on meal, or special needs like a phone charger, putting your game on ESPN73, or a recommendation for your next stop of the evening. The bartender’s practically your own personal concierge. Granted, I’m not talking about during a three-deep happy hour crush at P. J. McGillicutty’s on the night before Thanksgiving. I’m talking about your average visit, when there’s time for personal attention. But even during a nightmare “happy” hour Scheisseshäu, you’d be better off sitting at the bar than anywhere else in the joint.

There’s a time to sit at a table. Maybe you’re having a fine meal, and want to enjoy it at the long-acknowledged proper dining altitude of 30 inches. Maybe you want some private time, in which case, might monsieur prefer a booth? Or, you can split the difference and sit at one of the big boy tables in the bar section. Best of both worlds, sort of.

I never used to prefer the bar. I thought that’s where the degenerates sat. And yes, that’s true, but so is everything I said above—every last word—and I’m standing by it. All of it. Sitting at the bar. Cousin, it’s the way to go.