Monday, March 24, 2008

A little taste of Hell

It came home to me with great force yesterday just how much I hate unintelligent middle-aged pissheads.

Some may object that this is a tad hypocritical of me. After all, they will say, I am middle-aged myself now. And so it is, I suppose, if you go by the date of birth in my passport; but I like to think that I am still 'young at heart'..... and not yet too decrepit in outward appearance either.

Others will say, surely I am a pisshead too. Well, yes, I am certainly fond, perhaps a little over-fond of quaffing alcoholic beverages..... but I can handle it. I very seldom become at all erratic or incoherent, and I never, never, never become obnoxious or belligerent. A little maudlin sometimes, but that's all.

And I can still usually hold my end up in a serious conversation, even when in quite an advanced state of drunkenness.

I think, also, that most of us allow a little more indulgence to the young. We expect them to be a little less prudent in their consumption, a little more riotous in their behaviour afterwards. We attribute it to youthful high spirits and inexperience, and we tolerate it rather more than we would with people of our own age or older.

There is something particularly ugly, undignified, horrific about aging drunks. And that's what I found myself briefly trapped in the midst of yesterday (fairly early in the evening!): a gaggle of late-40s or early-50s English teachers who'd been on the piss all afternoon and had completely lost the plot, degenerated into puerile, drivelling, raucous boorishness.

The Chairman had been out with them, and had, I think, been finding the latter stages of the experience every bit as excruciating as I did when I belatedly joined them; he, alas, was far too 'polite' and unassertive to tear himself away, and so summoned me to play the 7th Cavalry role. He owes me.

God, if I ever start to get like these people, I will give up drink immediately. And if I don't then give up, just shoot me, please.


The British Cowboy said...

I could take this as a personal insult...

My pet hate are people who use booze as an excuse to act in ways contrary to the basic rules of human society. There are drunken mistakes, which are tolerable - knocking someone's pint over, telling a slightly too off color story etc. And then there are the forms of drunken behavior that cross the line. Stealing people's money off the bar, for example. I don't care how drunk you were - you are still a thieving bastard who needs a kicking.

Can't remember if I shared my most recent exposure to this - it was crossed with my other pet hate. That, of course, being "I'm a pretty girl, I can do anything I want." When the two are combined, bad things are likely.

Froog said...

Deep breaths, Cowboy, deep breaths.

I think there's a lot to the in vino veritas maxim: people who are arseholes when they're drunk are arseholes when they're sober too (they just might hide it a little better).

The British Cowboy said...

OK - the story in full.

Molly's on a Friday night. I arrive at 8-ish, having arranged tentatively to meet a friend at 9. Bar is heaving, and full of the kind of people who I usually pay to avoid.

One seat is open - in the corner, right in front of the annoying bar touch screen video game. Needs must, so I sit down and have a beer or two. No sign of friend.

Boredom takes over from me, as my friend the bartender is too swamped to talk, and the drunks next to me seem barely days out of kindergarten. So I put a couple of dollars in said machine, and play one of the mind puzzles.

Cue drunk, reasonably pretty girl wandering over. She asks if it would be really rude if she asked me to play a different game so sshe could play too. Answer - yes you harpy! But no, passive-aggressive Cowboy agrees, before realizing quite how drunk she was.

Anyway, by this stage, I had ordered dinner. Cowboy was a tad hungover from the previous night, so had order a pair of appetizers (half price Friday night!) of the fried variety. Chicken fingers and these Irish-mashed-taters-and-corned-beef-made-into-balls-breaded-and-fried-and-served-with-mustard-sauce things. Very tasty. Food arrives as game is being played.

Drunk yet still somewhat pretty chick says nothing, yet grabs one of the chicken fingers, and munches it down. (Note - there are four to a portion). I am too shocked to say anything. DYSPC finishes that, then picks up a second, and consumes that. Cowboy now building a rage inside him.

DYSPC points to the other plate of food - "What's that?" Cowboy in his best dismissive sarcastic voice, somewhat lost on airhead bimbette, explains what they are, and how they are his dinner. In comes the manicured hand and picks one up and eats it (4 of these to a portion too).

On what freaking planet is eating food off a strangers plate acceptable? Without asking?

Froog said...

Ah, the poor girl thought she was "well in". You led her on, Cowboy, by flirtatiously allowing her to sit next to you, joining in a computer game with her, even agreeing to change the game to one of her preference.

What might be just a routine courtesy to well brought-up Brits like us is often seen as a huge come-on by our American friends. And, as we know, there is a certain type of woman who assumes that the likelihood she is willing to sleep with you means that you will be prepared to subsidize her eating and drinking for the rest of the evening.

How did you extricate yourself from this situation? And how many of your bar snacks were left to you by then?

Froog said...

Ah, Molly's.

I think I could love a girl named Molly. Such a soft, cuddly name.

Crowded is never good, though. My current favourite (the unimaginatively named 'Pool Bar'), starts to feel a bit claustrophobic if there's more than about 15 people in (which only happens at the weekends)..... at least in the downstairs bit (there is a large mezzanine area, mostly full of Chinese punters; I never really pay much attention to that).

The British Cowboy said...

Part of the story left out: DYSPC was with her boyfriend. Not flirting with me at all.

Bitch ate half my food and left. I conspicuously ordered two beers while she was there, seeing if she would pay for either of them, but no such luck.

You wil like Evening Star, my new local. Wide range of beers, though shitty Guiness, eclectic crowd, hot bartenders.