Alumni weekend is a date circled on every postgrad’s calendar. Returning to your old stomping grounds with a real job, a salary, and that new dad bod from the forty plus hour work week gives you some extra swag for hitting the college bars. However, you quickly realize that the bars do not emanate the same aura that you remembered as an undergrad. It begs the question, have the bars changed or have you? Let’s face it — you are the one who has changed.
This is a situation my friends and I find ourselves in every weekend. I am a second year med student at a large party school in Ohio. The trials and tribulations of learning a semester’s worth of information, in a few weeks, for an end-of-block exam creates a high stress black hole. However, being one of the most eligible bachelors on a campus nationally recognized for its beautiful women gives me ample opportunity to exercise some demons. My school has a robust bar street, perfect for assembling a bar crawl team of equally stressed out classmates for charging into a sea of drunk undergrads. The only problem is that when we make landfall at the bar, we stick out, mainly because we are old as hell. It is bizarre looking around the room and seeing everyone contemplate if you and your friends are undercover cops. I imagine this is how Brian O’Connor felt around Dom Toretto, without the hot sister happy ending. I have been the youngest person in the bar. I have walked miles in those boat shoes — however, as the oldest guy at the bar, I present to you my findings.
Nothing good happens after 2 a.m…unless you’re the oldest guy at the bar.
12:45 a.m. seems early, but when everyone is teetering the line between deciding if you are the cops or not, things can escalate quickly.
Normally, a small group of three to five dudes doesn’t seem like a big deal. Now picture this same group doing its best Night at the Roxbury impression to every girl at the bar.
Do not assume everyone is twenty-one. In fact, assume no one is twenty-one.
This one may seem obvious, but it’s all fun and games until you experience a walk of shame from the dorms in your mid-twenties. Don’t panic, though. Flip this into some free swipes at the cafeteria and reassess your life over all-you-can-eat hash browns.
It is an acceptable move to chug straight from the pitcher and spike it.
This feat was performed by my older married brother in a crowded college bar. It was as if he shanked the biggest dude in the prison yard — we didn’t pay for anything the rest of the night.
Just go with it.
Most younger girls love hooking up with older men, that’s a fact. If they see you as a naughty professor, you be that guy. If they want you to be a doctor who saves lives, you go McDreamy on their ass. If they picture you as the mysterious rich businessman who is into the kinky stuff, well, you get the idea.
Despite popular belief, no one cares that you are in grad school.
This one might be tough for my fellow grad students to swallow, but it applies to anyone in the old to young bar situation. Think back to that time when you were an undergrad. I had three things on my mind: One and two were female parts, and three facilitated me getting one and two.
Don’t wear a blazer to the bar.
You look like a game show host to everyone. Save that shit for when you have home field advantage.
If something seems wrong, pull the ripcord and get the hell out of there.
Never, ever set your sights on sloppy drunk girls. This one I learned the hard way; it ended with no sex and my bed soaked to the box spring in urine. Spoiler alert: It wasn’t mine..