Every Tuesday night it's the same scenario. I debate with myself for two hours whether or not I should stay in and do some reading or go out to the local bar and have a few beers.
And every Tuesday night I end up going out. My friends and I crowd in a booth and watch hot girls that we won't actually speak to walk by, most of them clearly under 21. We'll order a five dollar pitcher, pretend to watch highlights from the Celtics game and talk about how much the bar sucks.
We do that for about a half hour until we head to the other bar down the street where they still have underage girls and crowded booths, but no pitchers. We stay there for about 45 minutes wasting money, watching people we know walk by, and talking about how much the place sucks.
I usually catch a ride home around 12:30 a.m. and realize that the two hours I spent debating whether or not to go out should have probably been spent reading.
One Tuesday night at the bar I ran into an acquaintance with whom I share a mutual friend. She and I started having a conversation about internships and careers until this tall dude got in my face, completely blocking the girl I was talking to, and asked, "How 'bout those Red Sox, man?"
I didn't realize what was going on until I noticed the girl's friend standing in the corner. He was sent as a rescue attempt for the poor girl I was talking to. The girl was quickly carted away by her girlfriend and I was left dejected standing in front of some lanky, drunk dude. And all I could think was, "Maybe, if I started following baseball these kinds of things wouldn't happen."
Why do girls always bring cameras out to bars? And then they make that ambiguous motion towards me, where they wave the camera around in their hand and raise their eyebrows. So I head over and start to smile and pose next to the girl and she promptly informs me that she was wondering if I could take a picture of her and her friend.
Have you ever been drunk coming back from a bar on foot and for no reason at all just started to run home? My friend Evan appropriately calls this bizarre action the "drunken run." For whatever reason, you feel compelled to just book it home.
Maybe it's because at the end of the night there's no need to be self-conscious that you're going to work up a sweat, since your night is pretty much over and you won't be seeing anyone else. And by the same logic, maybe a little jog will get you that toned body you've been trying for and ensure that next time you won't be coming back from the bar alone.
One night coming back from a bar in Faneuil Hall I shared a cab with my friends Andy, Sarah and Anish. Our cab driver, Al, was in high spirits. He joked with me when I asked if he knew how to get to Tufts. "Now, let me see. I've been driving for about 20 years. It would be a damn shame and unfortunate for my occupation if I didn't know how to navigate towards such a prestigious institution as Tufts University." We started to become friendly with Al. He began telling us stories from his life as a Boston cabdriver, pointing out various buildings around town, and telling us their significance to the city and what used to be in their place.
It was like a reverse episode of HBO's Taxicab Confessions. In our version, the passenger didn't need to do much talking - and, oh yeah, a lot less sex. So, 20 minutes later when we pulled up in front of my house, we took out our wallets to go pay Al and he asked us if we would "please not leave yet. I'm not finished."
He proceeded to make sure he hadn't offended any of us. Of course, we told him we were anything but offended and that we enjoyed the ride. Then he said, "Good, because there's one more thing I've got to tell you." I looked at him suspiciously. "This is about to get religious, isn't it?" I asked Al. "Not religious. Spiritual. Just spiritual." In the next five minutes I learned all about how Jesus loves me, even though I am a Jew and that we should all go visit Al's web site about New Testament teachings.
During the whole uncomfortable talk I stayed silent, but looking back I wish I could've broken the ice with something more secular, more universal. Something like, "Hey, how about those Red Sox?"
Neil Padover is a senior majoring in English. He can be reached neil.padover@tufts.edu.
