It’s been over a decade since I’ve been at a bar on a weekend evening. It’s really not my scene, you know? First of all, I don’t drink, so the raison d'être for going to a bar is completely lost on me. Since I’m not drinking, it’s got to be for the conversation with friends, right? Well, if you’ve ever been to a bar on a busy night, it’s bloody difficult to talk to one another. It’s so loud that you can’t even hear the jukebox music properly.
And that is why I - and my friends - don’t go to bars.
But there I was this past Saturday evening, sat at a bar in the Marina district. I was there because the classmates from the improv class I’ve been taking decided to go. Nothing like peer pressure, isn’t it? We took in a professional improv show earlier in the evening, and apparently the night was still young enough for some alcoholic refreshments. Thank goodness for non-alcoholic beer: I can partake in the shitty taste, without the alcoholic downsides.
Upon entering I was immediately reminded why I stopped partaking in such festivities. The amount of humanity at that bar was amazing. All there for the privilege of overpaying for drinks and having to yell at each other just to have a conversation. Though if you’re with a significant someone, a bar offers the perfect excuse to get close and whisper sweet nothings into each other’s ears. It’s definitely a younger (than us) crowd, too: a whole lot of twenty somethings not wanting to stay home on a weekend night.
Us older responsible adults called it quits way before the clock struck midnight. Sleep is important! So is limiting the amount of alcohol. We were all one and done, except for one guy who had three beers. He seems like the type of dude who can handle his drinks, though. Nevertheless: no need for a Sunday recovery day!
Too much.