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I sat in a booth at an upscale restaurant with a plate of deviled eggs in front of me. I abided by the golden martini rule: one is not enough and three is too many. The banter was witty, the drinks were good, and the deviled eggs even had caviar on top of them. This was to be my big night out, as the night prior saw me sleeping in bed at 11:30 p.m.
Objectively speaking, I was having fun and it was quite clear that everyone else in the booth was too. The problem came when we decided that it was time for a change of scenery.
There’s no doubt in my mind that this was the smart play. Deviled eggs accompanied by caviar are not exactly cheap. Neither are martinis being shaken with vodka from vodka that resides on the top of the shelf.
The bill was inching it’s way towards astronomical by hour two of the outing, and the consensus at the table was that we needed a spot where we could buy several beers and possibly a few shots all at once for the low-low.
Spirits remained high after settling up with our waitress. I put my jacket on and stepped outside to find that it was actually quite balmy for a night in early December. It wasn’t until I got in the Uber that my energy level began to dip into a dangerously low territory. As soon as my ass hit the cloth interior of that Toyota Camry, I knew that I was in trouble.
The first bar that one enters on a Saturday night is usually going to be fun. People are enthusiastic. Optimism runs rampant with ideas about where the night could go. For a large swath of individuals entering a bar at 7 or 8 p.m., that first bar is where they will have their first drink of the day. Energy in a group remains high for the first few hours.
At some point, though, a dip occurs. Now I’m not saying that this will always happen, but usually this dip coincides with the suggestion to move to a new spot. People begin breaking off from the group because, outside of music festivals, groupthink does not work.
I don’t know if this is a product of getting older or if this phenomenon is something that happens to everyone who wants to move to a new bar, but lately, I’ve been finding that a cab ride to the second or third bar of the night tends to suck the enthusiasm out of everyone.
A cab ride while inebriated will make anyone a little drowsy. For me personally, riding in the back of an Uber (especially when the driver is not engaging you in a conversation) can sometimes bring me back to time spent as a child in the backseat of my mom or dads car. Heading home from visiting relatives or maybe even just a long afternoon running errands with mom is exhausting, and a little snooze only seems natural in that moment.
I didn’t fall asleep in the back of that Uber last weekend, but I did yawn a few times. And upon arriving to that second bar, I could tell that the night was going to be called prematurely. I know that it was because we got in that cab.
The five or ten minutes that we spent ordering the Ubers, getting our coats on, and gliding through light traffic made everyone sleepy. At my age, the first bar of the night needs to be the only bar of the night. Alternatives to taking cabs are obviously to walk, but most of the time that’s just not in the cards.
I know that 26 is not exactly young but it isn’t old either. In this instance, it was economically irresponsible to stay at our first destination. We would have racked up a bill too high for any of us to afford.
I don’t have a solution to this. There is just something about the time in between the first and second bar of the night that drains the collective energy of the group.
Either I need to start making more money so I can afford to stay at the first bar where martinis and deviled eggs are the norm, or I need to pick a spot right off the bat where I can comfortably drink all night. This business of getting in cabs to get to an alternative bar is for the 23-year-olds of the world. If last weekend taught me anything, it’s that I’m just a one bar per night type of guy now. I’m just tired, man. The juice is not worth the squeeze. .
Image via Unsplash
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jduda@grandex.co
It sounds like you just didn’t want to go out, Duda. If a 5-10 minute uber is making you call it prematurely, you’re just washed up.
Oh there’s no doubt in my mind that I’m washed up. Dry cleaned, even.
You and Nick are pretty much the same age, but your mentalities about going out couldn’t be more different.
Instead of carrying a flask/mini bottles to gyp whichever drinking establishment you’re in, save them for the in between rides. Roadie pulls keep it hunnid.
I empathize with you Duda. Usually a big night out like this for me requires a nap, light meal, and several red bull vodkas before feeling in the zone. I try and go out to bar districts where you can just walk short distances from bar to bar. Grab a drink at one bar then bounce for the next, rinse and repeat.
Still feel like young man.
Don’t let me get in my zone.
Walking to my zone.
definitely got hung up with the kanye on this one.
You need PEDs
Bar hopping sucked when you were 23 too, it was just so new that you didn’t care. Also the seasons changing does this. A lot harder to walk to a bar or Uber when you need a jacket and it’s cold than the summer
If all I ate for dinner was deviled eggs and caviar, I’d have no energy to stay out especially while drinking. Sounds like the food selection could have led to the premature exit.
Two thoughts:
1. I agree with you 110%. Typically you don’t need a second bar if the first bar is a good scene.
2. When I hit that lull, I just drink my way out of it.