It was 9:30 p.m. on a Tuesday and a bunch of us just finished playing tennis in Gilbert — a perfect time for a drink.
“Hey let’s go to Applebees,” Lee said. The rest of us fell in line, because Lee is 300-solid pounds of peer pressure.
We packed 6-8 of us around a round high-top table. Larry was busy leering at all the women in the place and telling us tales of his time on the beach in San Diego.
“The girls over there in the thongs were incredible,” he said. He had a whole bunch of other stories. I was surprised. Doesn’t he have several grandchildren? Hey, good for him.
He didn’t touch these women or stalk them — he just gazed with an appreciative eye (or stared like a creep depending on your point of view). But fuck it, at least he’s not dead yet.
Looking at young women is like going to the art museum. The images conjure an emotional and sometimes a very small physical reaction — but it doesn’t mean you should fuck the paintings…
The waitress breaks up our circle of anonymous harassment.
“I’d like the tallest, coldest beer on tap,” I spit out as quickly as possible. She runs down the list and I picked one of the 1000’s of flavors of Sam Adams. I can’t keep all those stupid names straight – but it’s usually acceptable — even if they pour malt in the mix like salt in the ocean.
Then the rest of the table orders:
“I’d like a milkshake”
“iced tea”
“strawberry shake”
“just milk”…
They finish, and its all milk and soft drinks (not even a soda).
“Jesus Christ,” I said. “Are you all alcoholics?”
“No, we are LDS,” one of them said. Latter-Day-Saints — local talk for Mormon for those of you from a state other than Utah, Idaho or Arizona. I had played tennis with these guys for several years on Tuesday nights and had no idea they all belonged to the same club of crazy.
They were not going to drink (at least in front of each other) but they had no problem with me putting down a few 32-ouncers.
“You should come with us to Las Vegas,” Trevor (or Tavin or Taylor or whatever the fuck name starts with a T and ends in Mormon) said. “We could use a designated drinker.”
In any bar no matter who I’m with, I tend to call out “Jesus” and say fuck a lot. The Mormons didn’t seem to notice, and to my surprise the conversation never got awkward — even if I slurred just a little. I didn’t bring up polygamy, or having my own planet in the afterlife, and they didn’t offer to tell me about Joseph Smith.
The rest of the night was stories of trips, girl watching (thanks Larry) with a little sports mixed in. It wasn’t the deepest or greatest conversation I’ve ever had. But it was probably the most interesting I’ve been a part of when I was the only one drinking.
I barely got the second beer down, when they all wanted to go home. Time passes slowly for the sober.
We never did get to Vegas. Shortly thereafter, I moved to Tucson for work and found the 3rd world club. The only place on earth where the bar is just steps away from the tennis court.
Tucson is not Gilbert, my friends. There are no milkshakes ordered at the 3rd world after 10 p.m. And no one volunteers to leave — we get thrown out when the bartender turns off the TV’s.
But if my Tucson tennis friends ever go to Vegas, I might call Lee and Larry and those dirty old men from Gilbert. They could be the designated drivers to our designated drinkers…
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Categories: Tennis teams -- Pendejos
Don’t you just hate it when you are the first to order a drink and end up being the only one with anything alcoholic! Been there done that too.
I had a number of trips to Latin America and the Caribbean for work when you just never knew what people would be ordering. As a visitor you often got asked to go first, which put you in a vulnerable position. I often like to see what other people are ordering, especially when it comes to food.
Yeah.. it’s not the worst thing in the world, but it does feel odd to be the only drunk in the crowd.
I gave up my nightly beer 2 or 3 years ago because I thought it might be interfering with sleep. I decided it didn’t and so why not go back to beer. Weirdly, it didn’t taste good. I still miss the buzz but I think I feel better. But now I’m the one who makes the others feel like there’s an interloper when I say, “Water’s fine for me.” Since I always liked a high octane IPA, maybe better to skip it as I near 84.
A few years ago I had a similar reaction with beer. Felt like it was adding to my knee inflammation and didn’t crave the taste as much. I switched to wine. Working just fine.
A milkshake though?! Not even a water?
Ha ha -love it man. I actually look forward to January so i can dry out -this December with its holiday parties\birthdays has me feeling like I am a 5th member of Motley Crue.
Keep on posting in 2024 K man!
-Butterpants
Sober October and dry January are just signs of our modern weakness. My Irish ancestors gave me the genes that won’t allow such things.
A 32 oz beer… Isn’t that a pitcher? Regardless at Ljbtc it would only cost about 30 bucks. Sigh. In the old days at the Dublin House on W 79st., NYC, it was maybe 6.
A pitcher should be 60 or 64 ounces. Beer prices make sense to me — water at a $1 or more a bottle is ridiculous.
This is why you are Batman and I am Robin! 🙂
That being said -out tonight for live music and a perpetually endless glass of vodka press.
-Butterpants