Beer just tastes better out of a glass to me.
I’m not pretending to have just discovered this, as I’m sure many of you are aware of the aromatic properties of certain glasses (see the Sam Adam’s glass for such an example) but it has been impressed upon me to use glasses as much as possible.
This has grown increasingly common now that I have a dishwasher that seems capable of ONLY correctly cleaning glasses (and somehow never getting that one pot lid clean) and I have taken to drinking even canned light beers out of a glass.
Yes, in those cases it is a 32-ounce mug that’s heavy enough to count as a weapon in certain cases, but it’s still an example of me always preferring a glass, even when the beer contained therein isn’t the greatest.
Of course this all has its roots in my preference for draft beer over bottled beer, which is truly what this post is about.
I live within walking distance of a handful of bars dotted along one of the main roads here that is marked by urban sprawl.
The shopping mall is a short distance away, too, but I hardly ever get a late-night urge to go shopping. Instead, I get these pangs to “just go out.”
I went once on my own a few months ago, just to see what it was like to go to one of these loud, packed bars and observe.
I had an Abita Amber (one of my favorites available in the area) and simply people-watched.
I had no expectations and was not disappointed, but decided then and there that going out and having a beer was better than staying in.
I vowed that I would not languish on Friday and Saturday nights so long as I had dollars enough to get a beer and see what was what, and I made good on it for a while.
I would have a few drinks here at home and then bike or walk to a bar and have a few Abitas, but when I had a few drinks ahead of time, I would always arrive at the bar with an agenda.
Either I was hoping to find a friend or meet women each time, and I always ended up just having beer by myself and watching people and ESPN highlights.
It was still fulfilling, but not like the first time. Not like when I went and had no idea what to expect.
So I went two Saturdays ago to a bar and decided I wanted nothing but beer. I would go with no agenda, no expectations and just see what happened.
And just as soon as I cast my expectations to the wind, my purpose came sharply into view.
One of my friends was at the bar, giving me someone to talk to, but more importantly her friend was having some trouble with her card.
I’ll never really know if it seemed as serious as it looked, but just before the shouting started, I told my friend to just put her tab on my account.
It wasn’t too much, but it was evidence that I had a purpose in the evening which I would not have fulfilled by staying at home pounding Lone Stars and watching Netflix.
So a week later, after what seemed like hours of cleaning ahead of a Super Bowl party, I found myself with a decision: to go out at 12:30 a.m. or to stay in bed?
I checked my expectations at the door and biked to the same bar again.
It was more humid than I thought, so as I came into the bar I felt like I was pouring sweat.
No matter, though, because a group of women began grabbing at me anyway.
“Jessie,” they said. “You look like Jessie!”
Men emerged from the crowd as well and I learned out it was a grouping of the men’s and women’s soccer teams.
What became clear, though, was that I looked exactly like one of the players and they weren’t letting me go anywhere until I had a picture with him.
After just enough time to make for great comedic timing, he emerged from the crowd coming from the bathroom.
We hugged in a way that suggested we were long lost brothers (which, it just so happens, is what we told everyone we met for the rest of the night) and all exchanged beers and shots.
I tagged along with the group during the barstay, then was invited along to a birthday party that never materialized, leading us all back to my place for tequila shots and generic Hot Pockets (They’re called Quick Pouches and they remind me daily that I am broke) until sunrise.
So it’s not a hard and fast rule (because there are none in life) but I would suggest that when you feel that urge to go out, listen to it.
If it’s coming from your stomach or your genitalia, well then you should eat something and go to bed.
But if you detect it’s coming from elsewhere — maybe your chest or the back of your head — then heed the call and just go out.
One thought on “Just go out.”
Check out the song “Let’s All Go To The Bar” by Deer Tick (yes, weird band name). It should be the soundtrack of your post.