Observations From A Sober Guy – The Bar

19 05 2010

Going to the bar sober can be a surreal experience.  An eye opening one at that.  “Is that what I look like every weekend?  Jesus”.  These are my observations from a sober night out at the bars:

I join a group of my buddies pregaming before heading out to the bars.  What a crazy concept. Let’s drink before we go out and drink.  Ahhhh, the carry over of the college lifestyle.  Will we ever grow up?  I listen as my buddies talk amongst themselves about chasing skirt and stories from the last bar crusades.  I really think we put our bodies through this torture just to have stories in the morning.  And does alcohol always make everyone louder.  It’s like a Motley Crue concert in this apartment.  Someone grabs a laptop to play some music.  “What do you guys wanna hear?”  Shouts of Lil Wayne, I’m On a Boat, and Garth Brooks ring out.  Do we always have this terrible taste in music?  I guess so.  Oh well.  Let’s listen to “I’m on a Boat” fifteen times in a row.  But make sure we rewind it a few times so everyone hears T-Pain say “I Fucked a Mermaid”. It’s still funny after 536 times.  “Who wants to shotgun!?”.  Well since I’m staying sober tonight, not me, but I watch three guys give high fives at the thought.  This is like something from Van Wilder. Hooray for perpetuating stereotypes.  I observe my cronies shotgun these beers.  One of them pukes in the sink immediately.  That will stay there for a few days.  Dishes will probably gather on top of it.  My two other buddies point and laugh. Barbarians.  Laughing at this poor guy.  I guess he did it to himself though. I point and laugh.  I notice pregaming comes with a routine.  Drink a beer, listen to a few songs, then go out to the porch to blast a cig.  Repeat.  After a solid couple hours of drinking before drinking, the group decides on where to head for the night. One friend yells out lets go to (insert bar here).  The crowd is rattled by this request.  “What, are you insane? There are NEVER any girls there”.  He would like that bar.  Idiot.  Like it honestly matters where we end up going.  I realize this in my state of soberness. It’s not like the atmosphere is going to matter.  In a couple of hours most of these guys will not be able to see straight and will have developed their own blackout language.  A language that can only be understood by fellow heavy drinkers.  I can’ wait to see this.  I smile at the thought.

We arrive at the bar.  God, this place stinks.  Does it always smell like this? I watch my friends head to the bar and find a place out of the way to sit and make some more observations.  There is a table full of girls to my right.  A birthday party.  I know this because one of the girls has a sign around her neck and a crown on her head.  Must be a 21st birthday.  We will know in about an hour if they are carrying her out.  The solo guitar player sings Wagon Wheel.  I know I will hear this song at least three more times before we leave.  My buddies come and join me at the table, most are double fisting.  A liquor drink and a beer.  Animals.  The bar is filled with smoke.  I wonder how many years I have lost on my life by hanging out in places like this.  The thought escapes me when a girl walks by in a mini skirt.  I wonder if she knows her underwear is showing. Probably not.  One of my buddies stares with is tongue hanging out.  He’s got that zombie-like stare going on.  You know the one from “Dawn of the Dead”.  He holds this stare for half a minute before returning to his cigarette.  He fumbles it, drops it to the ground, and attempts to put it back in his mouth the wrong way.  He catches his mistake before it’s too late. Disaster averted.

The bar is full of girls and guys alike.  Most dressed the exact same way.  It’s like a Polo army in here.  I imagine to myself an army full of men wearing polos and khakis. Intimidating.  I look to my left and one of my friends is crying  holding his cell phone. C’mon dude, you serious right now? I block him from the crowds to save the embarrassment. I ask him what’s wrong and all I get from his mumbling is girl, guy, and bar. Sounds like a serious problem. He forgets his issues when someone places an Irish Car Bomb on the table. He takes it down.  Irish Car Bomb, what an awesome name for a drink.

The night is coming to an end.  I watch one of my buddies trip and fall on a table, knocking over ten drinks.  He gets back up and continues stumbling towards the bar, knocking shoulders with everyone he passes.  I watch another patron take a shot at the bar, bend over in his bar stool, throw up, and then put his credit card up for another round.  What a trooper.  I head to the bathroom to relive myself.  I realize that I would have already made four or five trips had I not been sober.  There is a line of guys at the “trough” swaying back and forth talking gibberish. “Duuuuddeee, did you see the girl in the mini skirt?” The bathroom trough, one of the most uncomfortable peeing situations ever invented.  I come to the realization that my pee anxiety will overcome me.  I decide to hold it.  I head back to the table where my buddies are preparing to leave.  Blackout language engaged.  Time for late night.

We head to the local fried chicken joint.  Someone stumbles out into the street where he is almost hit by car.  He screams profanities at the driver for getting in his way.  I’m pretty sure he would try and fight the car if given the chance.  We make the five block journey to eat late night.  For those unfamiliar with late night, it is the greasiest, most unhealthy food you could imagine consuming after a night of drinking.  Fried chicken is perfect.  We enter the “restaraunt” and all my buddies place their orders.  The food arrives and the carnage begins.  I watch as one of my friends drops ketchup and mustard all over his white polo.  You literally just dropped half of your food on your shirt.  He rubs it in and continues ravishing his food.  This place is almost as rowdy as the bar.  People fighting left and right. I feel sorry for the employees.  I bet they’ve compiled some great sober observations. Bellies full, the group makes its way home.

The race is on to find the best spot to pass out.  I am thankful that I have a bed to sleep in.  One friend drops to the linoleum ten feet inside the door.  He won’t move until the morning, and will probably piss himself.  When your young, you pee the bed all the time.  There is about a 16 year hiatus, and due to alcohol consumption, you resume pissing yourself.  What a timeline.  I think to myself, what if our kids could see this when we are fathers.  “Daddy, what were you like when you were younger?”.  “Well son, I regularly drank to the point where my body shut down”.  I wore out my body’s natural defense mechanisms to where I would occasionally blackout”.  “I also regularly wet myself like you do now”.  Yeah, my friends won’t be telling that story.




3 responses

19 05 2010

I’m so glad I just found your blog – thank God for the “humor” category at WP! You guys are hilarious! This one certainly hit home from my times as a designated driver….and when I have not been….

Between this and Hardly Working….I’ve found my smile for the day!!!

19 05 2010
Hardly Working

We’re glad you enjoy it! Keep checking back for new posts.

19 05 2010


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