A New Jersey summer can ultimately be compared to a 3 month long Halloween Hulabaloo. The politically correct term for tan (at the Jersey Shore) is "pumpkin orange", the women hide their faces behind masks of makeup, the men sport hairstyles that literally stand on end, and the stylish costumes garbed by everyone would make even Tim Burton jealous. One particular bar that I can always count on to NEVER disappoint for this "Halloween treat" is Bar Anticipation (Bar A) in Belmar.
"Beat the clock" has become legend as the ultimate summer event on a Tuesday evening. The price of admission is free before 8:00 P.M. By this time the bar (inside and out) becomes like a packed sardine can with locals and tourists looking to have a black out experience off of the 25 cent watered down beers being served in dixi cups. The reason this blessed event was bequeathed "Beat the Clock"? Because one must do just that; beat the clock by drinking as much beer as one can consume in a half hour before the price rises another 25 cecnts. Typically the night turns into a magical party where a 45 minute drink wait at any one of the 8 bars is considered great, wearing alcohol becomes an outfit's accessory, and moving from one spot to another lasts as long as a weekend vacation. Oh, and of course the men are all prince charmings, showing prodigious amounts of chivilary.
My first summer as a 21 year old, Bar A was my playground. I happily boarded the train to Belmar as if it were the monrail taking my away to the Magic Kingdom. The beer tasted wonderful, the music rocked my world, and the men were like GQ models (or so I believed in my drunken stupor). I thought Bar A and I would always have this kind of relationship; one filled with passion and excitment. But sadly the honeymoon phase faded and I soon discovered what Bar A was REALLY like. It happened one faithful Jersey night; just this past summer.
My first summer as a 22 year old I learned that Bar A was what I always believed it to be... simply a playground for 21 year olds. The beer now tasted like cheap, stale dregs left at the bottom of a barrel, the music proved to be none other than a poor cover band trying too hard, and the men were more like lions ready to pounce on any living creature that moved. One particular night, I came face to face with one such lion.
I was trying to push my way through a crowd in an effort to reach the bar (because the only way to have an enjoyable time is under the influence). All of a sudden I felt a slight tug on my right arm. Thinking it was my friend Nikki only a few short steps behind me I reached blindly for her hand so I could drag her along at my pace. But when I felt this hot, clamy hand, I knew it was not that of a female. I turned to see this lanky, milk white boy covered in acne just inches from my face. He sported a backwards cap, a plain white T-shirt, and something baggy around his legs which techinally should not be called pants. "Yo babe, what's good?"
1. "Yo" should only be used when refering to the toy
2. I am not "in toyland", I am not "in arms" so I am not called "babe."
3. Sushi is good. Red wine is good. Using "What's good?" as a way to say, "How are you?" NOT GOOD.
The combination of his appearance and "vast vurnacular" surely was not going to rope me in. I quickly pulled my hand away and ignored him as if nothing happened. "Sweetie, let's dance. Ya know ya wanna." Again, really winning me over with the syntax. I chose to keep playing the ignorance card hoping he would get the hint.
He did get the hint, but he felt some parting words were in order:
"Bitch, I'm a 10 and you're a 4!"
Really? I swiftly turned my head around and calmly hit him back with this cleverly constructed line...
"Yes, on a scale of 1-10, 1 being the highest... you are a 10 and I'm a 4!" Bruised and beaten he sulked away and proceeded to press his body upon one of the "pumpkin orange", masked in makeup females that clearly had no standards.
Men really do not handle rejection well at all. Instead of this guy just walking away quietly with whatever pride he had left, he felt the need to belittle me as a recharger to his confidence. Well, if it made him feel any better "Hey! More power to ya fella!" But in the back of his tiny little brain he regrettable knows that I am really a 1... 1 being the highest!
No comments:
Post a Comment