Saturday night I was having a great time, starting my night off by watching the Bruins game at a bar in Southie (for you Bostonians, Stats). There were five of us, including one guy – Mike – who three of us were meeting for the first time. Great dude. After a few rounds, Mike got a call saying we should head to the North End, but we needed to hurry over because, and I quote, “the line was getting pretty lit.” (Again, for you Bostonians, West End Johnnies). The Uber was called, the rounds were finished, and off we went. We showed up no later than 10:15 – which I thought was still on the early side – and as soon as I stepped out of the car I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I like to think I’m up on the times and know what the kids are saying, but last time I checked, “lit” didn’t mean “long as fuck.” The line was over a block long and easily four or five people wide. We’re talking at least four hundred people. I can’t make this shit up.
We had decisions to make. To wait in line or go to another bar, that was the question. I’m not sure at what age I would have been okay with waiting in a line that long. Maybe I would have tolerated it if I were so drunk that I couldn’t tell the difference between the street and the bar, but that wasn’t the case. (Sidebar – still one of the best ideas ever from a movie, A Night at the Roxbury’s idea of a bar that looks like a street on the inside and looks like the bar when you’re waiting in line.). The problem with being in line when you’re so cocked is that there’s nowhere to pee. Plus, we’re in the middle of February, so you’re also standing outside in the cold. Why is that fun? Honestly, I’m hard-pressed to think of anything worse than waiting in line.
I work hard all week, so I’m not just going to stand in that line without reason. And listen, there’s no reason on earth, outside of Tom fucking Brady being in that bar (or Taylor Swift…) that could get me to stand in that line. Life’s just way too short.
The place is cool, and there’s no denying that. A DJ upstairs and a live country band downstairs. But I simply just do not understand why so many people wanted to be at this particular establishment. It’s not like we were in some remote part of middle earth and this was the only place to get drinks and mingle. There were literally dozens of bars around the corner, all playing similar music, and all with the same drunk idiots inside.
I’m wondering at what point the line got so big that people wouldn’t get in the back, or how long you’d have to be standing there before realizing what an outrageous waste of time it is to be posted up outside in the cold, refreshing your Snapchat and Facebook just begging for new updates to help pass the time. And at what point do you feel like you’ve invested so much time in that line that leaving becomes defeating, as if you fought the line and the line won? I’m not sure I ever want to find out.
Listen, let me drop some savage knowledge on some of you who were waiting in lines this past weekend. There’s nothing special about that bar. The beer is still overpriced, the music is still too loud to actually talk to people, the bathrooms are still trashed, and it’s still harder to ski uphill than it is to make your way through the crowds. Just find somewhere else to go nearby that doesn’t waste your time. If your friends are already inside, tell them you’re not waiting in the line that would put any airport security line to shame, and tell them which other bar they can find you at.
I wasn’t going to put up with any of that. I’m done with lines. Forever. The only line I will ever wait in is within the confines of Trader Joe’s.
And for those of you who are wondering if we went to another bar, Mike went up to the bouncer, dropped a name, and we waltzed in in front of the hundreds of poor bastards waiting in line. And you know what? Jimmy crack corn, and I don’t care..