Booze

Drunk of the Week

"C'mon, let's go to Willie's! It's Stripper Tuesday!"

"Uh, dude, it's Wednesday."

"Whatever."

Even as the Head of Drinking Regrets and I were having this conversation, other members of the Institute of Drinking Studies were well into their research, having gotten a call earlier from the Head of Sleeper Drunks. He'd had a hellish day at work and was pushing his theory that we all needed to go have at least one more drink than we should so that we could then get up and go to work with a hangover and remember the previous day as one of greatest we'd ever had. Or something like that.

People think that they drink after work in order to decompress, to forget the day's worries. Or for a more pathological reason, like the physiological need to consume lots of alcohol after typing a memo that looks like this:

Dear Sir,

I am responding to your letter of the 16th, where you voiced concerns regarding my professional bepksihpotfihn;klsdf...

But our research has shown that the real reason people drink after work is so they have something important to keep them busy at work the next day, like sitting in their cubicles and regretting how much they drank or who they went home with rather than actually doing anything job-related.

After work, as at any other time, it's of paramount importance to choose the right bar. Unfortunately, on this night I made the executive decision to meet everyone at the Lazy Dog Sports Bar & Grill (4100 East Mexico Avenue), despite my vow not two weeks earlier to never go there again. I made that vow on the night that, in desperate need of an impromptu meeting between contingents from the Institute and the Air Force Academy, we'd arrived at the Dog -- only to be abruptly informed that the kitchen had closed well before 10 p.m. since no customers come there because the kitchen closes so early.

But since we here at the Institute are nothing if not open-minded and forgiving, I decided to give the place another try. This experiment failed miserably. From the time we were seated, 7 minutes and 53 seconds elapsed before we were asked for our first drink order -- and this when our deranged and disheveled appearance should have inspired an emergent-waitress response. We also had to explain that Cuba Libres were a drink, not a South American separatist movement intent on holding the Lazy Dog hostage.

After being told that we would have to wait for our next round because everyone was so busy, we decided to take a few hostages just to keep ourselves entertained. We started out by picking members of our group for psychological torture. But since this was just a rehash of what we do every night when we go out, we quickly moved on to physical assaults, targeting the two women who inexplicably continue to join us despite our juvenile behavior. The Head of Drinking Regrets and I waited patiently for the girls to go to the little girls' room, then took the high chairs stored by the bathrooms and piled them in front of the door to the ladies'. Giggling uncontrollably, we congratulated ourselves on our maneuver. But then the Head of Drinking Regrets looked over my shoulder, and the laughter died on his lips. I turned slowly and saw the two female members of our group coming in from the parking lot.

In subsequent analysis, we realized that we'd probably barricaded our waitress in the bathroom, which would explain the mammoth delay in getting our drinks. But we were capable of this analysis only much later. In the short term, we got the hell out of there. And in a natural chemical reaction, Stripper Wednesday was born.

If you're looking for after-work action, the Lazy Dog may be too lazy for you. You could fall victim to acute alcohol withdrawal between rounds. In fact, I'm feeling the need for a John Courage right now. I'd better get one before sioefrhapshdnfkansc.

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Patrick Osborn

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