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Pint Day Etiquette
A brief guide to going out on a Tuesday afternoon.
Pint Day is best observed with large groups of people. Pick a place that’s deserted, push a few tables together, grab all the available chairs, and just generally commandeer the place on a Tuesday. That guarantees plenty of lively discussion. If everyone is well acquainted, the whole affair can be quite festive, and might carry on late into the evening. Well, maybe that’s a little too festive for a Tuesday, in fact.
So the best group size is probably a maximum of four. Tables are always set for four, so it helps with the seating problem that larger groups tend to run into. (Like five: who wants to be the guy plopped on the end?) Yes, four. But not two pairs of couples. This is Pint Day, not a double date. Who needs to revisit all those shared memories and in-jokes, anyway? Not on a Tuesday, please.
Four un-involved people, or maybe three co-workers or peers, to be sure. Three’s good, because there’s always that third-way point of view, and then there’s an available seat if anyone else should happen by.
But really—and who are we kidding here?—you invite that woman every week, and she invariably comes up with some lame excuse, such as “I’m washing my hair, out of the country.” Whatever. Three’s all you need.
Hey, you known what’s really aggravating? When you’re trying to have a civilized conversation with someone, and another person keeps interjecting with tangential comments. What? Don’t you get enough attention at home? We’re talking here. Yeah, that’s it. Storm off. Go sit with someone who cares.
So call up your buddy, pick a place, and get together for a beer after work. That’s how it’s supposed to be: Two friends shootin’ the breeze on a weekday afternoon. No yelling, no struggling to make your point heard, no confusion over the final bill. Unless you consider the tender subject of dividing the tip—Hey buddy, 10% is a rotten tip, and I’m tired of having to tip for two or wind up looking cheap by association. Look dude, you’re always bragging about how much dosh you’re bringing in. Pay up! Okay, I tell you what you fucking skinflint, when we meet next week and one of us doesn’t show up, feel free to start without me.
A Civilized Drink
There’s nothing like a mature, civilized drink by yourself to calm the nerves mid-week. You can catch up on some reading, or get some notes down on paper. Makes you feel all literary or something. It’s quite amazing how, if left to yourself, your thoughts start to—No, I don’t want a menu, thank you, as I told the hostess when I sat down, and I also don’t need these utensils now, do I?—Jesus, why can’t people think a little before interrupting you with constant up-sells. In fact, what’s the point of going out when you can buy the same bloody beer at the liquor store for less than half the price? In fact, the selection’s way better. $4.99 for a 1L bottle of Big Bear? You can’t even get that at the bar.
Yeah man. Grab a couple of those on the way home, flip on the tube and let your cares soak away. Man, this sure beats hunting down a parking spot uptown where—Goddamn, there’s nothing on at 5:00 on weekdays. Sixty channels, and the best you can do is the freakin’ Decorating Challenge? And if I have to see another surreal McCain’s ad, I’m going to drive to their head office with a tiger torch and lightly brown their—Okay. Maybe the TV can stay off. And best not to get started on the radio.
Silence
Blissful silence. That’s more like it. Alone with your thoughts. Oh, better close the drapes, so the neighbours can’t peek in. Freaks.
Well hey. No one else is around, you might as well shed these work clothes—yeah, just chuck ’em on the kitchen floor. Who’s going to complain? Hey, that’s pretty comfortable now.
There’s not really much need for the lights now then, is there?
So.
This is real.
Alone, with a couple of Big Bear, in your underwear. In the dark.
Good times.
Evan Spence
Tuesday, June 3, 2003
PD DCII