OK guys, real talk now. I know college has the reputation of being one of the prime times of your life- tons of parties, cool friends, and a metabolism that can survive on four hours of sleep. But if I'm really being honest here, the worst thing in the world for me is having to go out and socialize. I hate parties, I've always been more of a four friends kind of girl, and my ideal night is Netflix and chill-out-by-myself-because-you-all-give-me-a-headache.
Being the major introvert that I am, I decided to challenge myself to what I can only call the unthinkable for me- I was going to go out socialize every single night for a week and see what happened.
Let me be absolutely clear- I intended to fully immerse myself in this assignment and go into it with a ready and willing attitude. But I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
Since I live at home, dorm parties were out of the question for my week of forced socialization. So for my first night, I took the classic route- I went to a bar. Let me set the scene for you- this joint that I found myself at is technically a historical landmark in my town, so it doesn't have to abide by any health code. Grossed out yet? I was. If the sticky floors, beer stained pool tables and bathrooms with their broken door handles weren't enough, I had a very intoxicated man make some not-so-gentleman like remarks to me and another college frat boy spill his shot of Fireball on my canvas shoes. Suffice to say, this was not a great start to my week.
The next two days, I went out to bar and restaurant places with a group of friends. While these locations were not nearly as disgusting as the first night, this whole "talking to other people" and "carrying on a conversation" thing was so not working for me. But what was I supposed to say, "Please ignore me, I'm just awkward and uncomfortable"? No, I had a little more pride than that.
My fourth night, I found myself as a dance club. And while I can bust out some "Shake It Off" moves like none other, that wasn't the type of dancing that was, um, taking place at these establishments. Let's just say it was a bit more... promiscuous than that. I lasted two whole songs and gave myself a gold star anyway.
The fifth night of my endeavor was actually the highlight of my week. I ended up at a modern-day speakeasy with a group of mid-twenty-year-olds that I knew through mutual friends. When taking my Uber up to the address I was given, I was surprised to find an old, run-down pizza joint at the location. Seriously, "run-down" is being generous. The carpet in this place was straight out of the 80s, the florescent lights flickered when the door would open, and every table had grease stains on it. But, following the directions I was given, I walked through the dining area and went through the emergency exit in the back. What I opened the exit door to was a very James Bond-esque room, with funky hipster tables and a long, black bar scaling the back wall. The people in there all seemed to be young professionals just looking for a nice break after a long day at the office. My night was quiet and enjoyable and made me feel like a spy on a secret mission.
The second to last night was also enjoyable, as I spent it at a local movie theater with recliner seats and the cocktails delivered to you as you watched the movie. Not much to report other than the fact that I will never be satisfied watching a movie any other way.
On my last night, I decided to go out with a bang- country/western swing dancing bar. I know I know, I'm rolling my eyes and gagging even thinking about it. I squeezed myself into a jean skirt and flannel shirt, along with the too tight boots I dug out of my closet from my high school days. Let me tell you, my "Shake It Off" moves were not appreciated here. First of all, why do I have to dance with a partner? You stay in your bubble, I'll stay in mine, buddy. And second of all, I'm sorry I can't flip myself over the bar railing in a skirt I've owned since I was 15. I actually ended up "accidentally" spilling my beer all over a guy who couldn't take a hint and left the establishment with my pride just barely intact.
All in all, I spent a large chunk of my paycheck to get beer spilled on me, boys trying to dance with me, and a friendly new Uber driver who now knows me by name. I'm sure this sounds like the bitter rantings of a cynical girl with major social interaction issues, and let me set the record straight- that's exactly what this is.
I'll keep to my bed, my wine and my Parenthood marathons, thank you very much.
*But seriously, major props to all you who can party every week. I can barely manage it once a decade.
