the scene

Go For The Girls With Blue Drinks

I might be an asshole for saying this.

Actually, I’m definitely an asshole for saying this.

The other night, I was at a bar with some friends. There was actually a line to get in – a big one. Imagine seeing dozens of people outside of a bar, foaming at the mouth to get in and give their money away in exchange for an alcoholic beverage at a ridiculous price.

These types of places are a bit strange, particularly the establishment-customer relationship. Young adults are always looking for the new hot-spot so that they have some place to be on a Friday night, and these bars need the customers to stay in business.

So who needs who more?

But back to my asshole tendencies. So we finally get in. The music is blaring. There’s a live DJ at this bar and he’s playing some horrible Top-40 hip-hop, per the usual. As we enter, the body heat hits us in the same way humidity in a tropical country would when exiting the airport. The place is packed and the cacophony of voices from the patrons act as background noise. Any semblance of conversation is going to require screaming.

We’re standing around, checking out the scene. Then I turn to one of the guys and tell him:

See that girl over there, with the blue drink? Yeah, you should go for girls with blue drinks.

What am I trying to say? Blue drinks will fuck you up. Whenever I see a girl holding a blue drink, I instantly assume that she’s okay with getting hammered, aka having a good time, aka open to being hit on by another guy. It’s like an open invitation to try out your charms on her, her alcoholic flag planted for all males to see.

Of course, keep it appropriate, though. I’m not that much of a jackass.

Is this always true? Of course it isn’t always true. But when it comes to meat markets like this bar, everyone’s judging and prejudging everyone else anyway, so why not use our observations and intuitions to our advantage?

It’s funny how the drink someone holds will lead to all sorts of conclusions. If I see a girl drinking straight up whisky, I’ll have this weird mix of being fascinated and impressed while assuming that she’s a bit of a tomboy.

If I see a guy drinking his beverage out of a straw, I’ll automatically judge him. C’mon you pussy, put that dainty little straw away and drink like a man, will ‘ya.

Anyone who takes shots at a bar is a douche, male or female, especially if they need a chaser to follow it. By the way, what’s the word for a female douche? I’ve always wondered about that.

And back to the blue drink. It’s usually an AMF, or Adios Motherfucker. Think about that – the drink is called A-D-I-O-S-M-O-T-H-E-R-F-U-C-K-E-R. Why would anyone ever order that?

You’re such an asshole, Chris. Who cares what people drink? They’re just having fun. You’re just hating. You must be a miserable little shit.

Jesus, calm down. I’m merely making some observations about people here. I’m allowed to formulate opinions, am I not? Hell, I’ve used those little, pathetic straws before for my pussy cocktail. Don’t get it twisted, I’m not saying I’m above all this, but I’m still able to point out idiocy and buffoonery as I see it.

It’s quite a conundrum – I hate judgment but I love to judge. Sue me.

Oh, by the way, the friend ended up not even approaching her. We just ended up drinking and talking to each other all night. She enjoyed her blue drink, and he enjoyed his blue balls. Just another night in the city.

– Chris.

 

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