Arthur Rourke saturday night in the city

The Saturday night scene in any happening town is frequented by young adults looking to get themselves drunk and cut loose of their every day responsibilities.

Usually the evening starts the same: sharing cocktails at a friend’s place or spending far too much money on a dinner that is only adequate. Either way, you wind up ingesting quite a bit of booze. This gets you fired up for the free form debauchery that is destined to unfold. People all over seem to have slightly different ways of getting to the debauchery. The public transit in each city offers the best means of reaching a great level of intoxication as well as safely arriving at your destination. The city’s transit is always filled to capacity on weekend evenings. Young people stare slant-eyed across the aisles and muster up enough fractured English to ask where someone is going, who they are meeting up with, or why in the world are those stupid brunettes hotter than us.

These strange conversations flow easily, fuelled by booze. Onto the bar scene, and if you are a Canadian, you can well appreciate the value of a coat check. If not, then you will freeze your ass solid while awaiting the bouncer’s whim. Sometimes it seems that they really do enjoy watching people gradually turn into human popsicles in the hopes that they will buy more drinks as soon as they enter. It sure as hell works most weekends. But the waiting line affords those singles yet another chance to mingle. An instant conversation starter is the galvanized hatred of said bouncers.

“Those fuckers love watching us freeze” is usually heard floating throughout the line up. Of course this casual conversation in line can set you up well, if you do actually make it inside.

Once past those dreaded bouncers it is a simple matter of ponying up the cash to enter the club or bar. That has always been a funny concept, but it is lucrative. The best part is the person accepting entrance fees has the gall to ask for tips. Well good luck with that entrance wench. So you’ve made it inside. This is where the party starts, or for many people ends. Depending on the type of venue you’ve chosen for your outing, you may be partaking in casual cocktails, endless shots, or simply hanging by the bar hoping that the hottie in the tight jeans notices your ass in passing. Regardless, everyone loves to booze. So booze away, one more drink won’t get you laid, but it will allow you to stay a little longer. Some people dance the night away. This gives way to a curious female situation commonly referred to as Mother Hen Syndrome.

This occurs when one female of any given group tends to shoo away any potential “mates”. It is often debated as to why this occurs, be it jealousy, kinship, or hard core cock blocking drive, but rest assured if you go out often enough eventually you’ll run into a Mother Hen. For those fortunate enough to avoid the anti-wheeling device, then you’ll be able to grind up on some sweetness for a while. Dry humping the night away seems to be a great pass time, but some guys wind up confused as hell when they offer an early exit and are shot down.

Too bad pal, maybe next time you should conceal the fact that you have a massive erection. As the lights go up, and those pesky bouncers return once again to clear the area, the night comes to an end. You have several options, go home and weep silently into your pillow, catch the ugliest train home, or hook up with pals at a local eatery to go into great detail about how swell that night was. Whatever you wind up doing, the next weekend holds the same promise for a fun time out.

Boozing in the city is a sure fire way to have a lighter wallet, a colder hand, and some foggy memories of a somewhat attractive prospect shooting you down.

Add new comment

Plain text

  • No HTML tags allowed.
  • Web page addresses and e-mail addresses turn into links automatically.
  • Lines and paragraphs break automatically.
By submitting this form, you accept the Mollom privacy policy.