Volume 94, Issue 91
Wednesday, March 14, 2001
Grump talks trash about darn kids and their drinkin'
It's an all too common sight along Richmond Street: Throngs of students in rank and file, passively and sometimes stupidly waiting to get into pubs packed with bodies and shallow attitudes.
I'm reluctant to visit this town's trendier pubs on the north side of downtown. They just don't appeal to me. They tend to have too much expectation, too many foppish patrons and, usually once inside, too much disappointment.
I refuse to stand in the long, Soviet-style queues of any pub, let alone the lengthy lines of a stylish one. The wait tends to give everyone a doomed sense of hopelessness, as the waves of drunken cheaters who cut into line in front of you, start to look hellishly endless.
There's nothing I hate more than what especially in the winter seems like a slow, icy, stop-and-go death march composed of scantily clad women and horny men.
The entire fiasco is nothing short of funny. Quite simply because the people who do it, can't explain it.
I would rather invite the guy downtown who smells like a dead raccoon and yells an unsettling amount of biblical references at inanimate objects over for dinner, than subject myself to the kind of humiliation involved in getting into a popular bar on a Saturday night.
What are you people thinking?
I have abandoned all hope that the age old maxim "there's a sucker born every minute" could possibly be an exaggeration. Every weekend it repeats itself and I marvel at the level of organized madness in which educated people participate.
I much prefer the grittier atmosphere of a blue collar bar to any of the stylish pubs that line Richmond Row. I like to look around a room filled with older, laid back faces who aren't concerned with humping everything in sight. Their bar may not have flashy disco lights, but they also don't have flashy line-ups. To me, that's all that matters.
Copyright © The Gazette 2000