Mmmmmm, cow piss
When I was 18 I worked in a restaurant and after work most of us would have a couple of drinks before heading home. This was 1980, things were a little more relaxed in terms of DUIs and such; if you were caught drinking underage, the cops would confiscate your beer, send you on your way, unless you were smashed (in which case they would escort you home), and take confiscated beer to the refrigerator they had at the police station to be divided up between them later to take home. Hey, it was a small town and that's the way things were done.
Anyway, after our shifts, we (the kitchen help, waitresses, and owner) would shoot the shit about whatever...
One night, we were talking about favorite drinks. The usual: "I like scredrivers", "I like sloe screws", and on and on until it eventually just devolved into shouts of favorite hard liquor mixes. I remember someone yelling "Tequila!", then someone else "Tanqueray!", and then several shouts of "yeah, tequila and tanqueray!" I remember this distinctly.
Fast forward 4 months, and yours truly is a brand new freshman and a small midwestern university. Having just moved in earlier that day to the dorms and unpacked my stuff, I had nothing to do. Didn't know anyone yet, but I'd heard all the stories about the crazy college nightlife, and I was itching to give it a try. Restless. Pacing. Like a fuckin' caged animal, man! "What the hell," I thought, "I'll just head down to the bars by myself. I'm sure someone wants to party with the new guy on campus." So, I took all 130 lbs. of me and my Peter Brady hair down to Water Street to find the perfect bar, one that didn't play any pussy music. In my brand new Levi's peg legs and a green surgical top (props to General Hospital!), I was ready for anything. I passed a few bars, then I heard it: the strains of Yes' "All Good People" coming out the door of the bar I was standing in front of. Now that's party music. I told you, hardcore or die! In I go, pulling out my dollar bills as I make my way to the bar. After waiting a few minutes, I get the bartender's attention; I guess it was kind of hard to see me between the 2 huge rugby players, but I think he finally scoped out my cold as ice hospital shirt.
"What can I get ya?"
Hmmm. First night out, new clothes (did I mention the shirt?); there's a new sheriff in town boys, and he'll have a
" Tanqueray and tequila."
"What?"
Come on, man, are you a bartender in a college town, or what? Don't tell me you've never mixed up a
"Tanqueray and tequila." Chop chop, my good man!
"In the same glass?"
What the fuck?! What the hell am I dealing with here?
"Well, yeah." Is there any other way? Sheesh.
The bartender mixes 'er up and sets it down in front of me. Cool, he even put those inedible nut-like things in it, just the way I drink 'em.
I pick up my drink, and turn to scope out the action; lots of hot babes. I wonder if any of them like my shirt. My glass is wet on the bottom, so I turn to grab a cocktail napkin, taking a drink as I do.
2 things. First, gin-and-tequila tastes like shit. People, believe me when I tell you that those two flavors should never be in the same fucking room, much less the same glass. Second, my trusty bartender has been watching me since he set the drink on the bar. As busy as that pre-semester college bar was that night, he somehow found a break in the action in order to watch me drink that cup of foulness, bless his heart.
Now, I'd like to say that I polished off that glass with a hearty "ahhhh", slammed it down, and ordered another. I'd also like to say that I scored with the Doublemint Twins that night. Hell, I'd settle for saying that I finished that drink without making face like I'd stepped in a pile of shit. But I'm not able to. What happened was, as soon as the bartender turned away, laughing, I left that crap on the bar and me and my surgeon's shirt hightailed it out of there before that fucker could point me out to his friends.
And on my walk back to the dorm, I thought, "man, you've got to be smoother; this ain't high school." And on the heels of that, "I had no idea Tanqueray was fuckin' gin!"
Anyway, after our shifts, we (the kitchen help, waitresses, and owner) would shoot the shit about whatever...
One night, we were talking about favorite drinks. The usual: "I like scredrivers", "I like sloe screws", and on and on until it eventually just devolved into shouts of favorite hard liquor mixes. I remember someone yelling "Tequila!", then someone else "Tanqueray!", and then several shouts of "yeah, tequila and tanqueray!" I remember this distinctly.
Fast forward 4 months, and yours truly is a brand new freshman and a small midwestern university. Having just moved in earlier that day to the dorms and unpacked my stuff, I had nothing to do. Didn't know anyone yet, but I'd heard all the stories about the crazy college nightlife, and I was itching to give it a try. Restless. Pacing. Like a fuckin' caged animal, man! "What the hell," I thought, "I'll just head down to the bars by myself. I'm sure someone wants to party with the new guy on campus." So, I took all 130 lbs. of me and my Peter Brady hair down to Water Street to find the perfect bar, one that didn't play any pussy music. In my brand new Levi's peg legs and a green surgical top (props to General Hospital!), I was ready for anything. I passed a few bars, then I heard it: the strains of Yes' "All Good People" coming out the door of the bar I was standing in front of. Now that's party music. I told you, hardcore or die! In I go, pulling out my dollar bills as I make my way to the bar. After waiting a few minutes, I get the bartender's attention; I guess it was kind of hard to see me between the 2 huge rugby players, but I think he finally scoped out my cold as ice hospital shirt.
"What can I get ya?"
Hmmm. First night out, new clothes (did I mention the shirt?); there's a new sheriff in town boys, and he'll have a
" Tanqueray and tequila."
"What?"
Come on, man, are you a bartender in a college town, or what? Don't tell me you've never mixed up a
"Tanqueray and tequila." Chop chop, my good man!
"In the same glass?"
What the fuck?! What the hell am I dealing with here?
"Well, yeah." Is there any other way? Sheesh.
The bartender mixes 'er up and sets it down in front of me. Cool, he even put those inedible nut-like things in it, just the way I drink 'em.
I pick up my drink, and turn to scope out the action; lots of hot babes. I wonder if any of them like my shirt. My glass is wet on the bottom, so I turn to grab a cocktail napkin, taking a drink as I do.
2 things. First, gin-and-tequila tastes like shit. People, believe me when I tell you that those two flavors should never be in the same fucking room, much less the same glass. Second, my trusty bartender has been watching me since he set the drink on the bar. As busy as that pre-semester college bar was that night, he somehow found a break in the action in order to watch me drink that cup of foulness, bless his heart.
Now, I'd like to say that I polished off that glass with a hearty "ahhhh", slammed it down, and ordered another. I'd also like to say that I scored with the Doublemint Twins that night. Hell, I'd settle for saying that I finished that drink without making face like I'd stepped in a pile of shit. But I'm not able to. What happened was, as soon as the bartender turned away, laughing, I left that crap on the bar and me and my surgeon's shirt hightailed it out of there before that fucker could point me out to his friends.
And on my walk back to the dorm, I thought, "man, you've got to be smoother; this ain't high school." And on the heels of that, "I had no idea Tanqueray was fuckin' gin!"
posted by t-bone at 2:10 PM
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