Last Sunday, I turned 21. I'd been dreaming of this coveted day. Gone are the days of texting that one 21-year-old I know for a cheap bottle of Moscato from the gas station down the street. Sunday night was spent with my favorite people; we were drinking mimosas and stuffing our faces. Then, the moment I'd been waiting for arrived: my first bar experience. I flashed my I.D. confidently to the bouncer and walked in with my best ladies right behind me. I was finally here in this land I'd seen in countless movies, where college dreams are made. And then, after an hour or so, I came to the realization: Bars suck. Here is my take on each aspect of the bar experience:
The Bar Itself
Expectation: crystal clear glass shelves lined with the finest alcohol, exposed brick
Reality: a bit more like the inside of Paddy's Pub. The dark dance floor pairs nicely with the bright neon beer signs and masks the alcohol glaze on the floor.
The Bartender
Expectation: tricks, style, pizazz. That's what the movies show, and they can't be wrong, right?
Reality: fun, but usually sloppy and most likely drunk themselves. And if it's a female bartender, you are S.O.L. if you happen to have lady parts.
The Drinks
Expectation: glorious colorful drunks in oversized containers that don't resemble cups.
Reality: pretty, 
The Crowd
Expectation: a room full of Ryan Goslings to sweep you off of your feet.
Reality: a sea of drunken frat boys donning their best Vineyard Vines sweaters and church khakis telling
The Dancing
Expectation: not as intense as what you see in Dirty Dancing, but you at least expect everyone to be on their A-game.
Reality: everyone is blackout-drunk and can barely muster a decent robot or shopping cart.
Needless to say, bars defied my expectations. With this being said, I will probably be going back out tonight. After all, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
