Not So Happy Hour

Last Friday my co-worker friend and I were husband free and decided that we needed to hit a local happy hour to pass our time. I looked on-line and found one place that sounded fabulous. When my co-worker friend called said place to check on prices, she found they had gone out of business. So she started looking online and finally found a place that had Happy Hour on a Friday night! And we work in a college town! Where bars are on every corner! Here is our e-mail exchange concerning the lack of HH:





GA: "No HH anywhere in {our town}...except {our usual place} and only until 7:00pm and that's only on their beer and calzones! i can't believe this...apparently not a lot of places have HH on Fridays as per {our other usual place}!”



Me: “Wait, {our other usual place} doesn't either??? What the heck kind of bars are these????? Now what?”


GA:"ok..{a place we'd only seen in passing}, it is! I just called to confirm and they are right across from {a restaurant}...by washington. has a martini glass neon sign. would 5:30 be ok? should we ask anyone else?? I'm ok either way."



So GA and I headed out after work to the ONE place in a COLLEGE town that had happy hour on a Friday night. As we came upon it my spidey sense started to tingle. When we opened the door my spidey sense went into full on red alert as the entire bar fell silent and all eyes were on us.

Oh yeah, we'd stumbled into the most local of local watering holes around. There were more mullets than teeth. But, they had cheap beer and drinks so we picked a table against the wall and settled in. It took a good 20mins before one of the locals found their way over to us to feel us out.

"You're not regulars here, are ya?"



Nope.

After that we were left alone for the rest of our time there. The smoke was choking, and seeped into every pore. Conversation we overheard included, but were not limited to: "Motherfuckers", "Dickheads", "Motherfucking dickhead", "Dumb asses", "Fucking hell!", "I'm not fucking drunk you fucker!", and so on. The most interesting conversation I heard occurred at the table next to us where a very logical and lucid discussion took place concerning the D.U.I laws, how much you could "blow" each time, when the law changed and how many more strikes could occur before being placed in custody. Very enlightening.

Scenes included, but were not limited to, sloppy drunken hugging, sloppy drunken kissing, drunken dancing, drunken stumbling and drunken tattoo flaunting. The buying of excessive amounts of drink for a man who appeared to not be mentally all there and was sporting a hospital wrist band. I caught many of the women giving us the evil eye until they realized that we were in no way competition for the bar fly men.

When the local who came over to greet us left, he stopped by once again and invited us to become locals. Noting to GA, "I don't see no wedding ring!!!!" She's been married for a good long time, and did indeed have a wedding band on.

The ride home with myself was disgusting because of the smoke smell that clung to every surface and article of clothing. I couldn't move my head for fear of stirring up the fumes.



We fully intend to go back.