Drink

So, I intended to keep this blog as anonymous as possible for as long as possible, but it seems that my instinct is to share, share, share. I have to give away some details. The story demands it. I am a student at Harvard and am currently writing this from a campus computer lab.

It is 12:44 am. I’ve just arrived in the computer lab from watching Alt-J’s concert, but I’m not alone here. There’s someone else watching some kind of video – when I was standing I could see it reflected in the glass behind him. It kept switching scenes, from men talking to cars driving, which gives me the impression that it’s a documentary. I also have that impression because it takes very, very large balls to watch a blockbuster in a computer lab, by yourself, at 12:44 am on a Friday night.1

I personally think it takes considerably fewer balls (smaller balls?) to come in to the computer lab at 12:44 am on a Friday and write a blog post, and here’s why: I know that I can no longer catch a bus (curse you and your Puritanism, Boston!) and I know that a Lyft (not Uber, obvs. Fuck Uber.) will be cheaper in one hour. So this is basically intro to microecon – do something that I would’ve done at home, with my cat, or do it here and save two dollas. I’ll take the two dollas. Sorry, Padfoot.

Anyway. I haven’t gotten around to why I need to reveal my location yet. This is a function of Friday wee hours writing. Sorry.

I have to reveal my location because I need to officially rave about Drink, a cocktail bar in downtown Boston, near South Station. This bar does “bespoke cocktails,” which means you can tell the bartender that you’d like to taste something that smells like the Corpse Flower and they’ll be like, “Hm. Okay.” And they’ll attempt to make you that beverage.

After the Alt-J concert let out, I was on my way to South Station when I remember Drink. I’ve never been before, despite living here for 3 years, because it’s not easy for me to get to. But now it was! It was only .3 mi, as the Google Maps put it, and I was game.

I waited 20 or so minutes in an un-air-conditioned hallway with a few men who were very interested in why I’d come to this bar alone. 2

Then, I was ushered to a seat. Brit was the bartender, and she immediately told me that it was at the pleasure of the people sitting next to me that I was allowed to join this table. (In retrospect, not sure whether this was true – there’s no reason it should’ve been true – but I liked it. I immediately started talking to those people.)

The people next to me were John, about to be engaged, Tim, and Andarla. At one point, Brit pulled out a massive cube of glassy ice and went at it with a machete. I told her I’d like a drink that tasted like dirt, and she handed me a drink with whiskey, an amaro, and honey (i.e. basically what I make myself at home, which was comforting rather than boring. It felt like she knew me.).
Brit was hacking her giant cube of ice and handed me some of it. I was like, “But do I have to hold this? It is very cold!” She seized it out of my hand and threw it on the floor. Everyone yelled, “Opa!” and then she handed me another ice block and let me throw it to the ground.

At one point, Tim told Brit to imagine that he was Bruce Wayne, coming to the bar to unwind after a long evening of fighting crime. Brit said, “Say no more.” Then, she took her machete to the cork of a champagne bottle, flinging the cork God knows where, and poured everyone in the vicinity a glass of champagne. She said to Tim, after he expressed concerns, “You’ll just pay for your glass. I haven’t had a chance to saber a champagne in a while, so it was mostly for that.”

I noticed her talking before she sabered the champagne. She said to her
coworker: “Three – no, four – glasses.” The fourth was for me.


1. I’ve never been sure – is 12:30 am Friday night or is it now Saturday morning? I know, technically, that it’s Saturday morning, but if you said to someone, “Yeah, bro! I was watching documentaries in this Harvard Computer Lab all Saturday morning!” they’d be like, “Why don’t you sleep in like a normal fucking person?” So it’s difficult to tell when the night ends and when the morning begins. Personally, I think the break is when you sleep for 1 hour or more. But if you stayed up until the sun rose, you wouldn’t call that Friday night, surely. Back

2. I assume you mean well, but there is still nothing more unrepentantly obnoxious than a man asking a young woman why she’s at a bar by herself. Would you ever ask this of a man? I have a strong desire not to have to justify myself, especially when I am having fun. Do not ask me how I can have fun without other people around. Just. Don’t. Do. That. You want to probe into the underlying psychological factors that allow me to feel comfortable alone, you’ll have to go get yourself a Masters’ of Social Work.Back

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