On Saturday evening, I made the executive decision to take some Eagles fans to Rhino Bar in Georgetown. It was my decision because the Eagles fans were girls and didn't really know anything about sports other than that they were supposed to root for their hometown teams. Rhino calls itself DC's Philadelphia Eagles bar, so I figured that would be as fine a place as any to watch the game. Being surrounded by the misery of hundreds of Philly fans after their inevitable loss was just icing on the cake for me.
This was going to be my first trip to Georgetown in months. I usually try to avoid Georgetown at all costs. What with the expensive drinks, the popped collars, and the general douchebagginess of the area, I felt that Georgetown was truly one of the reasons why I hated Washington. This Saturday excursion proved me correct.
First and foremost, fuck Rhino Bar. I know I've made this point a thousand times, but it will always remain a thorn in my side. How the Hell can you be a Red Sox bar, an Eagles bar, a Buckeye bar, a Nittany Lion bar, and an Orangeman bar? Pick a region and stick with it for Christ's sake. The Penn State Nittany Lions and the Ohio State Buckeyes are in the same conference for crying out loud. That's like having a bar that doubles as a Red Sox bar and a Yankees bar. Real sports fans should shy away from that incestuous shit.
Not to accuse Philly Eagles fans of not being "real sports fans," but they could have cared less about the particulars of Rhino's allegiance. Rhino was packed. So packed that I saw the line to get into the place and immediately turned around. We retreated to a bar on Wisconsin and M called Old Glory. They had a deck with televisions. Awesome.
The walk from Rhino to Old Glory was marked by an especially excellent occasion. We walked by a homeless woman on M Street. One of the Eagles fans, the incredibly alert Cyber Agatha, noticed that it was the one and only "Brenda." People often e-mail me asking to send pictures of the infamous former Friendship Heights resident. Well, folks, she's on M Street. Have fun with that.
Anyways, Old Glory.
My original problem with the Old Glory deck was that they had a space heater going. I don't know if you've noticed, but we haven't had typical January weather for quite a while. The space heater was unnecessary. This is an admittedly benign complaint, but it was annoying nonetheless. The bar shifted into another degree of annoyance when the deck started filling up. The restrooms were literally ten feet from the deck. But when the deck hit capacity, the bar shut the doors and started a line to get outside. To leave the deck and take a piss meant that you had to forfeit your spot outdoors. Think about how utterly ridiculous this is. A bar punishing its customers for peeing. Fucking idiotic.
Another observation that hit me while on the deck and which continued for the rest of the night was how insanely beautiful and vapid the crowd was. Idiocracy + formal dresses = Georgetown. I'd like to say I've never encountered such a toxic combination, but I have this very same observation every time I decide to venture to Georgetown. I would pay a hundred dollars to have the dozens of overheard conversation erased from my memory. How can people who appear so well-raised be so boring, insignificant, and stupid?
Well, Old Glory was all good and fun. The E-A-G-L-E-S EAGLES! lost to the New Orleans Saints. We decided to move on to The Guards. Not my all-time favorite bar, but whatever. It was drinking time. The Guards was packed with people. It always is. My friends and I decided to order two drinks instead of one to avoid waiting in line for booze again. So, I ordered six Red Bull and vodkas. To my abject horror, this set me back $72. For $72 I could have bought six handles of Zelko Vodka and five cans of Red Bull. I would have ended up way drunker. Making matters worse, some moron who was somehow affiliated with the group I was hanging with tipped the bartendress four dollars on a $60 tab. This was grossly unacceptable, so I was forced to overtip on what was already a staggeringly high tab.
(Also, parenthetically, The Guards has a similar policy to Old Glory when it comes to making people in the bar wait in line to get back in. Old Glory does it with the restrooms; The Guards does it with smokers. I think the smoking ban is stupid. However, I understand why non-smokers like it. I also understand that such a policy will mean that I will smoke less. (I smoke a pack a month; I think it would make sense to stop before this becomes a problem.) But not allowing smokers back into the establishment is incredibly stupid. It shows an amazing amount of disdain for their customers. Halo, a gay lounge by Logan Circle that was non-smoking before the ban, had it right when they let smokers back into their club immediately. They'd even have the bartenders guard your drink. Kudos to Halo. Shame to The Guards.)
By three in the morning, I was a broken man. I had managed to spend over $150 and I was going to have to go out again the next afternoon for the Patriots game. I was ready to vomit, pass out, and just press "reset" on my life. While drunkenly waiting for a cab, I ran into a girl. I have no idea how it came up, but she mentioned she went to college In Massachusetts. I was naturally intrigued. I asked her where. She responded, "Holy Cross." I mentioned that Holy Cross was, in my opinion, the second most beautiful campus I had ever visited (UPenn is #1). She thanked me for the compliment and asked me where I went. I told her I went to AU. She responded with a flurry of obscenities revolving around how AU was for dunces and imbeciles. A school that could never live up to Holy Cross. All in the flow of a friendly conversation. Her natural response to my praise of the lovely Worcester hill that Holy Cross sits on.
That's Georgetown for you. You go in looking for a good time. You leave broke and ridiculed. I got home and pulled the trigger to get all the last bits of alcohol out of my system. I was hoping I could do the same with every last memory of Georgetown. To wake up and forget that I had ever spent time there was the happiest ending I could come up with for my Saturday night. I'm writing this on Monday night, so you can guess how that wish turned out.