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.
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.
Expectation: glorious colorful drunks in oversized containers that don't resemble cups.
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
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.