Let the record show that I am not a teetotaler. When I go to a Rangers game, I sure do want to eat a hot dog and crack open an ice cold beer. At the end of a long hard day, I love to sit back and sip a nice glass of wine to take the edge off. I don’t have anything against alcohol. I also don’t have anything against people who chose to abstain from drinking. These are personal decisions, and to each his own. As Jen, A PriorFatGirl so aptly puts it – “My body, my decision. Your body, your decision.”
Now, that having been said, let’s just have a real honest little chat about my less than glamorous experience in Uptown a couple weeks ago. The urban meet-n-greet-n-get-way-too-friendly-way-too-fast scene known as “the bars,” was, as I’ve already said, a relatively unexplored territory for me. Had I done it before? Sure. Had I ever enjoyed it? Heck no. I was always the girl who ended up having some inebriated goober wander my way to ask the inevitable “Hey, izzatyerfrind? Sheeees so hot. Can I.. dooooya think I havachanz? Can, can you tellerIthinksheezhot?” I once was at a bar with a group of girlfriends and some random guy bought shots and had them delivered to everyone I was with. Everyone except me. Awkward much?
Suffice it to say, when invitations for a night on the town go out, I generally make it a practice to be busy re-organizing my sock drawer. But hey, it’s time to try new things right? Throw caution to the wind. Put on the war-paint we call makeup and head out to get mah par-tay on. We started the night at the far end of the Uptown strip at a well-known karaoke bar. That was actually pretty fun. The entertainment was beautifully bad, everyone was fresh and in good spirits. We all ordered drinks and caught up on the weeks events and made fun of the guy doing his best to belt out a really warped version of a current pop song.
After we’d finished the first drink and the initial mingling had been taken care of, we moseyed on down the street to a more crowded pub. Now, when I say crowded, I’m being pretty generous. Generally speaking, I like to believe (perhaps naively) that I own a certain amount of air space around my head. My air, my air particles. I don’t particularly want to share them with you, and if you’re taller than me, I definitely don’t want to be sharing my air with your armpits.
By the time we finally squeezed our way through the deck and up to the bar, I was already starting to feel tense. When everyone started ordering their next rounds, I realized that someone needed to be the designated driver. The bar tender leaned over the sticky wooden counter to get close to my face. He wiped the back of his hand across a sweaty forehead and then wiped his nose. “WHAT CAN I GET YOU!!??” he bellowed.
“Water,” I said dryly.
“WATER?” he rolled his eyes. With his tainted hand, he grabbed a tumbler and tossed three ice cubes into it. Then he grabbed the soda hose and filled it about halfway up. He picked up the tumbler and forcefully slammed it down in front of me. About half of what had been in there sloshed out the side, and the haphazardly placed lemon fell off the edge of the glass. By the time I looked up from the damage, he was l