So, here’s the thing: I’m pretty upfront about the fact that I’m a huge snob. I love dive bars and cheap deals, but when it comes down to the character of the people I hang out with, I’m a pretty harsh judge. I’m just not the kind of person that likes to surround himself with people that lack integrity or charm, and I have no problem avoiding those who are missing key ingredients. Last Thursday, however, was one for the record books. My friend, who lives in Bethesda, had some people in from out of town, and invited me to come out with them. I made the mistake of accepting instead of going out with people who actually live in the District. I also falsely assumed we would be going out in the District and I could slink away if I caught wind of a shitty night on the horizon. Unfortunately, he had no intentions of going into DC to drink. He wanted to keep it local and show off his neighborhood, which is minutes away from Georgetown Prep. I should have known that poor life decisions would follow.
We started at some epically trashy bar that was situated right next to GP, and had some of the saddest souls I have ever encountered. I’m not even kidding when I say that I saw at least two patrons who were drinking while pregnant. Most of the men were in t-shirts and gym shorts, and one openly bragged about having blood on his short (hopefully from some kind of organized sport that does not involve rules about keeping it secret). I love going to dive bars, but this put even those to shame; I legitimately felt threatened by the other patrons’ hostile stares at my polo paired with Nantucket red shorts. Needless to say, we polished off our pitcher pretty quickly and headed out for another place.
We drove further into Bethesda proper, and parked the car in some godforsaken parking garage. As we wandered the streets of Maryland, I thought to myself how lucky I am to live in the fine city of Washington, D.C. As depressed as I get here, I could never imagine my life after a few months in the sorry excuses for suburbs in our neighbor to the north. A cop literally looked me up and down as if he could tell I was judging everyone and wanted to beat me with his billy club as punishment. We ended up at BlackFinn, a desperate attempt to franchise McFadden’s even more that is has been. The only real redeeming quality when we came in was the Jack and Coke I ordered was in a pint glass and triple the liquor of most bars; this, however, would not last.
Soon, the alcohol started to catch up with me and I no longer looked at this night as a bust, but as an adventure. I could study the mating rituals of absolute losers (and I am talking extreme caliber here) while drinking on a couch in the corner. It really was pretty awesome to rattle off observations to my friend about the marine in the Ed Hardy t-shirt hitting on the girl who hadn’t graduated from high school. I was enthralled as I watched so many desperate souls aching to get some action on a Thursday night, screaming when Katy Perry/Pussycat Dolls/other shitty music came on the speakers. It was like being at prom all over again, but the only people who were invited were the band nerds and the creepy people who would eventually drop out of community college.
I know I’m following up a post that chastised people for judging others based on stereotypes and prejudices, but this is different. Mostly because I was judging people based on hours of their behavior and social interaction, and not a decision they made to be on TV. Also, though, the situation is different because I can do whatever I want and you can’t give me shit about it. Doesn’t that rule suck?