I went out to the baseball game the other day. It was my first game of the season and I was meeting up with an old friend. Our pact was simple: You buy the tickets and I’ll buy the beer. Naturally I was going to get inebriated. Gameday rolls around and we meet up at the stadium. I buy the first round, and I finish my beer before he’s even halfway done. So I bought another beer and finished it as he finished his first. I offered to buy another round and he said no. So I bought another beer for myself mostly because we had to kill time before first pitch. It was a hot day too, and I don’t need much of an excuse to crack a brew. It took until my fourth beer to realize that I was drinking with someone who doesn’t drink. I suddenly felt sloppy and like an alcoholic. But then I looked and noticed that the line for Budweiser was longer than the line for hot dogs and realized that he was the weird one, not me. Props for having restraint and self-control, but I’d prefer a few bottles of suds over soda any day of the week. Drinking with someone who doesn’t drink is ok as long as they don’t judge you and as long as you don’t judge them. It’s like eating a burger in front of a vegetarian; you don’t talk about how amazing it is because they don’t want to hear about it.
Critically Rated at 10/17
Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young