While some people were out getting awesome deals on new computers, blu-ray players and anal lube–what, that wasn’t on sale?–I managed to score the sweetest Black Friday deal of them all: a few extra hours of sleep. For free.
By not leaving my house in the morning–thus completely avoiding the madness of my fellow man and preserving most of my sanity–I was able to go out that night and be social. I generally don’t like being around drunk people, mainly because most drunk people do stupid things. They puke in the bushes, yell, embarassingly, at ex-girlfriends and lick the taint of steel giraffes, all in the name of alcohol. I know this because I did every single one of those things. Luckily, I’ve learned to become a better alcoholic and now only drink enough to make me appear mildly annoying; not ridiculously obnoxious.
Something that has helped my relatively smooth transition from loud drunk to social drinker has been the emergence of my new friend, gout. He doesn’t allow me to drink much beer, since, if I do, he’ll wake me from my peaceful slumber by whacking my left foot with an exceptionally large sledgehammer. The threat of excessive pain seems to have a direct effect on my decision making, and so I do as he says.
Of course, without beer, and because I detest the traditional rum/whisky options, my selection of imbibable poisons is rather limited. In my 27 years, I have pieced together a short list of all the drinks that, I feel, don’t taste like shit and/or won’t make me throw up in a bathroom stall. This list consists of two items: gin & tonic and any fruity, girly drink adorned with a tiny umbrella. And since I was going to be out at a bar, in public, where people can actually see me, I wasn’t about to order a White Russian. Nope, Friday night would be gin & tonic night.
Here’s where my Black Friday nightmare begins. Typically, when I’m at a bar, I’m ordering Sam Adams, Guinness or some other kind of hops-filled beverage, and usually, they’re all a few bucks a piece. A very small price to pay for a few pints of beautiful barley. Not so with other drinks. My gin & tonics, for instance? Six bucks a piece (+ $1 tip). Which wouldn’t be so terrible if it weren’t for the thimble-sized glass, filled to the rim with ice, that the bar insists on providing patrons. Essentially, I was paying $6 per cold shot of watered-down gin. Needless to say, by 4am, I wasn’t drunk. Or tipsy. Or happy.
What I was, was $28 lighter in the wallet and too sober to truly appreciate the goings on around me. Damn you, Black Friday. Damn you straight to hell.
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