How to "Ladies Night" at a College Bar

So I officially ended my sophomore year at college this Wednesday, drank myself into projectile vomiting, and then moved everything I own (while still projectile vomiting) out of my on campus apartment the following day. And I couldn't help but notice while I was packing all my knick-knacks between worshiping at the porcelain alter that this year has been super educational. I don't mean boring stuff like "I can now speak rudimentary Russian, including both telling someone I love them and then breaking up with them" or "I now understand how the Banking system works and can derive forward exchange rate quotes" or that kind of crap. No, I'm talking about learning how to be 20 years old. See, in my mind I have not had a particularly normal college experience, which is another way to say that until about April I more or less hated college. I still hate college, but at least now I know how to stave off the loathing for a night. See, in April I finally got close with my roommate, Alexa, who more or less is the driving educational force behind this post. Alexa, though being my age, has her older sister's ID, and can get into campus bars in the area. She managed to find one that I could drink at Wednesday nights through a combination of showing up really fucking early and being a white, skinny, attractive female who clearly does not know the first thing about avoiding being hit on at seedy college bars. So, for your entertainment at my own expense, here are the things I learned about bars at the Wednesday ladies night down the block from our apartment.

1) Even if you're not 21, if you're surrounded by friends who have legitimate IDs, the waitress tends to give you the benefit of the doubt and serve you anyway. Part of the reason we got to the bar so early was because there was a trivia thing Wednesday nights that Alexa loved going to, and we'd always get a pitcher of light beer and drink a little while we googled answered questions. And every single week, everyone would show the waitress their ID, and she'd get to me and I'd give her a line about losing my wallet or forgetting it at home, and she'd say "Nah, don't worry about it." Every single time! And the best part was that I know I was not the youngest person in that bar.

2) For the love of God, do not stick your ass out into the aisle while leaning against the table unless you want to get hit on. Or just have your ass grabbed. To be fair, this was totally the first night I'd ever drank at a bar, I was so excited to be drinking in a bar that I didn't think about it, and I learned my lesson pretty quick. Anyway, we were all sitting at one of the taller tables with bar stools, but my seat got jacked when I went to go get another drink. I didn't think it'd be a big deal, so I just put a leg up on Alexa's chair and leaned against the table. To give you a really solid image, I was like Captain Morgan in skinny jeans. It was seriously less than five minutes before the nastiest, oldest, sleaziest guy in the bar came sauntering up to me, declaring I was the "sexiest girl here." And not knowing any better, I thanked him and then tried to get rid of him for the next 20 minutes because he wouldn't stop repeating how sexy I was and I couldn't stop thanking him because I'm an idiot when I'm drunk. Once I got rid of him, I went back to standing like Captain Morgan's slutty cousin and got my ass grabbed at least twice in the span of 60 seconds. I went home shortly thereafter.


3) When a nasty ass guy is hitting on you, declaring you're lesbian and have a girlfriend in Texas is the worst defense you could think of. I was trying to get rid of the nasty guy who kept toasting to me being some sort of underaged sexy bar goddess, when I decided that if he thought I batted for the other team, he might leave me alone. Nope. Instead, we stopped toasting how hot I apparently was, and started toasting to "pussy," at which point I figured I was so offended by this slimy man that I'd just ignore him. Twenty minutes after he started lauding my ass-ests, I figure out that ignoring creeps is the best way to get them to go away. I guess a secondary heading to this point could be Manners do not apply in a bar.

4) No matter how hung over you are, Thursday classes are too important to miss, so you'll go wishing a bus would hit you just to make the hangover feel less awful. Also, Gatorade is pretty much the best thing ever in that state of being. My hardest class was the International Economies class I had Tuesdays and Thursdays, aka the Day Before Drinking and the Day After Drinking, and no way could I afford to not go. So I'd go, and spend most of the class wishing for death. Thing is, I get SUPER hung over. At any given point of time, I'm probably dehydrated because of a couple different naturally occurring conditions in my body. Darwin would say "let her die," but instead I've spent the last twenty years of my life staving off death-by-dehydration by constantly drinking some sort of fluid. Now, if you've ever taken a freshman orientation class (or a "Please don't drink yourself to death because we'll be responsible" class), you know that alcohol is a diuretic like caffeine, and a hangover is really just the unpleasant combination of alcohol withdrawal and dehydration. So, if I replace constantly drinking water with even a little bit of liquor, the next morning my body basically tries to shut down. I've more or less dealt with this since I started drinking by just constantly having a water bottle with me while I party, and then also not drinking when I have plans the next morning. Neither of these safeguards work super well for the Wednesday night festivities, so I once spent an afternoon wishing for death until 4 because I had such a horrible headache. At one point, a classmate whose drunk debauchery would put Bradley Cooper to shame told me to drink Gatorade instead, and that usually halves the hangover. Which is super necessary when "Hangover" is synonymous with "Oh God, just let me die!"


5) People get really easy to talk to when you can't hear them. This one is probably more reflective of me, but I'm really bad at small talk, and it makes meeting people in random places kinda hard. Usually when you liquor someone up, the problem goes away, but even drunk I have a hard time with small talk. I found, though, if you're in a bar and can't hear half of what the other person is saying even while you yell, the conversation suddenly becomes awesome! I once had a conversation about Shakespeare at the bar with one of Alexa's friends, and the next morning I got a text message from him saying "I didn't know you were so interested in physics!"


I've still got a year before I turn 21, and Alexa is studying abroad next fall, so I really won't have a reason to be at that bar Wednesday nights. This might give my liver a chance to recuperate... but something tells me I'll miss it. Even if being "normal" means hangovers and getting hit on by creepers, it is weird how much I value that sensation every now and then.