Ordering a drink is incredibly stressful and uncomfortable. This is completely subjective, but I'm sure that I'm not alone here. I'm only 20 years old, so I've never ordered a drink myself until now because I'm in Europe (yaaaaaaaas!) but I'm also taking classes while I'm here (less excited "yaaas...").

So as you know, the drinking age is 18 in London, thus deeming me with the freedom of drinking. So, with this new freedom, I am also deemed with a new awkward situation. I honestly thought it would be like the movies (I was very wrong). I thought that when a girl walks up to the bar she is noticed and proceeds to slyly order her drink like an independent badass.


First off I'm not cool or sly or have a single once of social skills. So that's a hurdle.

Also, I look like an electrocuted sewage rat 80 percent of my life. I can't blame this on anyone but myself. Ya girl just doesn't care how she looks sometimes. Third, I'm not assertive. I will let everyone and their mother order a drink before me. I'm the type of person that will get kicked in the face and then apologize for my face being in the way. So, it was pretty clear that ordering a drink in a foreign country at a club was not going to be my shining moment.

With my shoes sticking to the ground with every step, I hesitantly made my way to the bar. Not beginning with a very strong start. I wiggle my way through the crowd at the bar and nervously place my arms on the edge of the table. I'm the only girl in a sea of boys. This was a mistake.

I stand there for a solid ten minutes as I watch the bartender frantically make drinks and open beers. I feel so uncomfortable. He sees me, I see him. I feel like I'm just staring him down. I literally just want to melt away, but I also want a cocktail. So I guess it was time to face my fears.

Another five minutes go by until he is able to get to me and I haven't said a single word to him, but I feel like I just irritate the absolute shit out of him. Help. I order my drink. Of course, he can't hear me so I'm forced to scream a terrible drink name at him.

The name of the fruity vodka blend was "free unicorn."

What the actual hell.

Five minutes go by and my drink is ready, thank God. I reach for my card and pay him. I didn't say more than maybe five words through the whole experience, yet I somehow hate my self even more than before. But it's fine because I now have my hella girly drink and never have to see him ever again.