The Battle to the Bar

The sun rises over the hill to the east. Goliath stands in front of you in the form of dozens of people just as eager to reach the same goal. Its such a great feeling to stare at an army so vast and know that you dont have to take them on, as it is not yet your round. But as all good things come to an end, you must soon find a passage that will allow you quick and easy access through the mob of people if you are to retrieve your liquid-gold. Normally I use my height (or lack there-of) to squeeze in and out of the tiniest gaps between people as I inch my way through the crowd but there is always an initial sticking point - the first of many stages where I am trapped in an awkward position between 5 people and not able to move my face out of the back of some unwitting girls hair. As she notices my nose hiding in her bun , I have spotted an opening 7 people away and bid her farewell by telling her that her hair smells lemony fresh and I ask her what shampoo she uses; she looks me up and down and completely ignores me (wrong chat-up approach?). By now you can hear high-adrenalin battle chanting choir music playing in the backround which reminds you of your objective; bending in and out; around and over; sideways and back-ways, you negotiate the hoardes of drunkards that stand between you and your destination. Now you reach sticking point number 2; where you are locked between a girlfriend and her boyfriend; you can hear absolutely everything they are saying including the anti-catholic filth that is pouring out of their mouths - maybe they're just on a first date?... You're completely fed up listening to them so you make a break for the 'empty-drinks' section of the bar; the place only staff are allowed to park, in the hope that you can swindle a sly order out of a weak bar-man (kind of like when you want to change lanes while driving your car, you pull up beside who you reckon looks generous or 'weak' enough to let you in). After giving up when the bouncer asks you to clear the space, you return to battling through the obsticle course of large and sometimes quite stubborn nacker wannabes whose hair-cuts dont completely fulfil their ambition to be 100% arsehole; you brush passed them deflecting their 'im going to fight you stare' with a gentle pat on the back or lower forearm as you 'thriller-move' your way on by; your body now in an 'im a little tea-pot' position. After you've Egyptian posed your way out of a solid beating from a berserker punter, you now find that you are behind someone at the bar. Now at this point, in my experience, I sometimes come across the 'are you having a laugh-ers'; these are generally quite attractive girls who for some bizarre reason ask if they can get in ahead of me...? Honestly now little lady, DO YOU THINK IVE JUST BATTLED THROUGH WHAT APPEARED TO BE AN OVERCROWDED HARRY POTTER BOOK SIGNING QUEUE JUST TO LET YOU IN FRONT OF ME? NO, SO PISS OFF! Whats more is they act really annoyed then when I say no? Oh Im sorry, did Daddy not tell you about something called the real world? Anyway, so you're standing at the bar (which in my case is usually up to my chest - What a pain in the rear hoop that is might I add) and you have to order your round of drinks at least 6 times because the nature of a nightclub is to make the music so bloody loud, that you cant hear anyone speak; usually come the 6th repitition of ordering your round you have confortably reached the point where you are using sign language to communicate your order (this comprises of you pointing to the brand of drink you want and holding up the proportionate number of fingers to the quantity required - I love when the bar-man/woman nods with such assuradness that you are convinced that they not only successfully deciphered what you order, but you now think they're sound; only to discover they got it all wrong - but you accept what you've been given because you're not arsed going through the motions again. Now comes the difficult part - getting back to your seat without spilling a drop... In my experience, I often take an unmanagable 5 glasses between two hands and slowly begin to navigate my way back through the hussle and bussle completely conscious of the fact that I can feel one of the glasses slowly slipping out of my grasp and if I dont make it back to the 'home-table' in the next 10 seconds, one of my friends are going to be drinking their beer off the ground. You just make it time to see that your friends are all sitting pretty with new fresh drinks because while you were fighting the war on constrictive body movement, they've just called the waitress to their table and had a round of drinks delivered with ease, purely because you took so bloody long to get to the bar and back.

Bottomline no 18; Spot the waitress, it will save you alot of grief.

Next Post: Leftover Spare Change

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