The following is an abridged list of people who were not at all amused by the Lush and her friends last Friday night: the girl whose table I put my drink on at Grafton St., our waitress at Charlie's, the entire table next to us at Charlie's, the man wearing armor in Charlie's and our cabdriver. The Lush is not one to brag, but she is a pretty fun drunk. Apparently, the above-listed people do not agree.
As a result, our Harvard Square Pub Crawl became a quest to find a bar where people were on our wavelength. It took three tries, but we eventually made it.
When did people get so damn uptight? Pretty much everywhere we went over the course of the night, I found myself turning to one of my friends and saying, "they weren't amused by us, were they?" It's not like we were falling-down drunk or belligerent, or any louder or more obnoxious than anyone else out that night. If the point of going out to bars is to get a little tipsy and have some laughs, then why was the anti-fun brigade out?
We started out the night in good spirits. Having recovered from a mild hangover just in time to catch the T to Harvard (hey, it was a long week), the Lush was ready to see what the Square really had to offer. The plan was to have a couple of drinks at a classy (more expensive) establishment before heading out into the night in search of some classic (cheap) bars. The Lush loves dives.
We first found ourselves in the Grafton St. Pub and Grill, in the hopes that some class would rub off if we rubbed elbows with the classy Harvard Square set. The Lush's favorite bars are rarely describable by the word "classy," so Grafton St. was a pleasant surprise. The crowd was a nice mixture of the hip and the not-so-hip, and the slightly pricey pints could be forgiven because they still had Oktoberfest on tap.
After a couple rounds we felt it was time to move on, and I was glad, because some girl who had been nursing one Cosmo for a good hour kept glaring at me because I put my drink on the unused end of her massive table. Hey lady, loosen up and have another drink.
We set off for Charlie's Kitchen to find a drunker and sillier crowd. We got there and climbed up to the second floor, waving at the tank of lobsters as we passed (I was very amused by the lobsters). Charlie's did not disappoint; there was a great vibe and an even better beer selection (I may be the only Sam Adams Cherry Wheat fan).
The Lush was thoroughly enjoying herself, even though she may or may not have spilled some - just a little bit - of someone else's Sierra Nevada. I found it amusing; the waitress didn't (although I don't blame her). The people at the table next to us found it even less amusing and proceeded to talk about us and stare for the next 20 minutes, until we finally left. Damn Barnies (that's "stuck-up Harvard kids" for the non-Masshole readership.)
We finished our round - it took a while because someone, ahem, Micah, was taking forever because his beer was "really heavy" - and set off to find a bar that had a crowd that WOULD be amused by us. On the way out the door we passed a rather large, somewhat scary bald man wearing armor. Yes, armor. Not a full suit or anything, but a noticeable amount of metal armor. I was feeling friendly so I complimented him on his bold fashion choice. Again, not amused. He looked at me like I had three heads. He's wearing armor at a bar, and I'm the weird one. Clearly.
Luckily, we finally found what we were looking for at Whitney's, right across the street from the 7-Eleven. Whitney's is a dive bar at its very best. There were about 15 people in the bar including us, AND they had Golden Tee AND a jukebox. The boys set to playing a very intense round of Golden Tee while Ellen tried to take a camera-phone picture of the poster with a quote from "Cocktail" (her favorite movie).
The best part about Whitney's? People were actually in a good mood; they were talking, meeting new people, and rockin' out to Rick Springfield's "Jesse's Girl." There was even a barwide sing-along of Journey's "Don't Stop Believing." And not only did everyone sing, but the Lush was able to get everyone in the bar doing the fist pump (one cannot fully enjoy Journey without a fist pump). The bartender even turned up the volume for us.
We left after last call, which was a bit early at Whitney's, and opted not to follow the crowd down to the Hong Kong. It would have ruined what we all shared there at Whitney's - a good beer and good times at a classic American dive bar.
Although our cabdriver was decidedly not amused by us (but who could blame him?) the night did end on a high note. Ellen and I ordered some late night lo mein and the Kee Kar Lau deliveryman did, in fact, find us quite amusing.
