Transitioning from one phase of your life to the next changes things. Going from undergrad to postgrad, whether you admit it to yourself, or even notice it, changes your thoughts and behaviors. One of the times this is most obvious is when you’re at the bar. The following is a chronological comparison of a night at the bar with the fellas as an undergrad and a postgrad.
Choosing the bar:
Undergrad: Okay guys, I’m already pretty hammered, let’s go to midtown. They’re doing $10 all you can drink Natty Lights. I’ll be blackout by midnight, so if I see Mike, don’t let me throw a punch. I’ve never been to the drunk tank, and I don’t want to go tonight. Fuck Mike.
Postgrad: Hey man, I hear your girl has her sister’s bachelorette party tonight, want to go out? I figure we can go to The Brew Company. They finally installed a Sierra Nevada tap. It’s about time they classed up a bit. They also have a Golden Tee, so prepare to have your ass whipped. Oh, and if we see Mike, please don’t look his way. He’s been pestering me about joining his fantasy football league, but I refuse to join a league with a guy that watched his first NFL game in 2010. Fuck Mike.
Walking into the bar:
Undergrad: Okay, we’ve got a $10 cover charge. Get out the cash motherfuckers. Yo Dave, I got you. Dad loaded me up for the next month. Shots are on me.
Postgrad: Looks like we have a $10 cover charge. Fuck. I don’t even know if I want to go here anymore. When did they start charging a cover? If I’m going to pay a charge for simply walking into an establishment, I’d rather go down the road to the strip club. Damn Dave, why do you have to be engaged? That cover is about half an hour of my work day right there, plus I got cash out of the Bank of America ATM and it charged me three bucks! Fuck it, what is money anyway?
The initial approach to the bar:
Undergrad: I’ll take a Natty! Actually, go ahead and give me two! Hell yeah, drinking Natties and smokin’ fatties.
Postgrad: Dave, be a pal and go grab us a table. No, not that one. I don’t want to be surrounded by that group of what I’m sure is IT guys. Yes, I’ll have two Sierra Nevadas. $8.75? It’s cool, I’ll just sell my body on the street to pay rent.
First female approach:
Undergrad: HEYYYYY what’s your name?! Jessica? Of course it is. I think I saw you in my human sexuality class! Oh, you don’t go here!? I’ll be damned. Well my apartment is right down the road! I’ve got a shit-ton of Seinfeld DVR’ed! Oh, you don’t like Seinfeld???!! Get out of my face.
Postgrad: Well look who it is! Jessica, right? It’s been years. I’ve been coming here for a while and I haven’t seen you here before. How’s life? TWO KIDS?! Wooooow. Well hey, I gotta run. I think my buddy Dave needs me for something.
After 12 Natural Lights:
Undergrad: That’s that motherfucker Mike! I knew he would be here! Don’t fuckin’ touch me, I’m going to say something to him. FUUUUUCK. Leave?? Now? Dave, you know he has it coming!! Fine, well buy me a shot or else it’s his ass.
Postgrad: (4 Sierra Nevadas, 1 Guinness, and a Boston Lager deep) Damnit Dave, Mike saw us. Gahhhhhhhdammit. Here he comes. Miiiiiike…what a surprise! How’s your wife and my kids? Ah, just fuckin’ with ya, Mike. No, don’t think I’ll be joining the league this year. Why? You guys half-ass it. I don’t care if you do hold the draft at Applebee’s. I haven’t eaten there since the fall of the Berlin Wall. Oh and Mike, if I do join, my first pick will be a tight end…your wife!
Requesting a song:
Undergrad: Say bro, play us some Wagon Wheel!
Postgrad: Got anything by Styx? Come Sail Away? Perfect!
(After several more beers…)
Undergrad: Mitt! Mitt! Mitt! Mitt! Recount!
Postgrad: I will never get used to checking a chick’s hand for a ring. Why are all these married chicks at a bar anyway?
Leaving the bar:
Undergrad: Dude I zzswear I can drive. Jus, Jus gimme my keyes.
Postgrad: There’s not a Taxi in sight. Dave, google the Taxi company’s number.
Waking up the next morning:
Undergrad: Sorry I puked on your couch, Dave. I honestly don’t remember. Toss me a beer, I need to shake this headache.
Postgrad: My back hurts, my neck is sore, my eyes are twitching. My body does not process alcohol like it used to. Sorry Dave, but I can’t grill out tonight with you and Sarah. I have to meet Mike at Applebee’s. Ugh, fuck Mike.