Going out for one drink after work always goes as planned: closing a downtown bar and stumbling in, cursing the aether and mock-repenting over the things one should have done instead. I say as planned because let's go out for one drink has become a politese for let's get completely shitty and rant.
It goes like this:
- One suggests to a few persons familiar with the process that it seems like a good idea to go out for one drink.
- Generally, a few people agree that going out for one drink would be a good idea at the end of this long day.
- Participants pack their bags, including, of course, work they intend to do once they get home after having one drink.
- Sometime between 5pm and 7pm the participants queue up in the reception area and head out to the bar together.
- The participants walk to the bar discussing, among other things, the work they intend to do later, after this one drink.
- Upon arriving at the bar, beverages are ordered and the ranting commences. Four Manhattans [up, extra cherries, extra cherry juice, shot of bitters, shaken until bruised] or Martinis [up, filthy, four blue cheese stuffed olives, vermouth in the glass] or Irish Car Bombs later and the participants are thanking the gods that the bar is closing because each has lost the will to decline anything proffered from the snarky waiter [why yes, you're correct, we would like another! appetizers do sound like a good idea! water? why thank you!].
- The bar closes.
- Participants stumble outside and into taxis and head to their homes.
About once a week, I go out for one drink. Last week, I didn't. This week, on Thursday, I made the suggestion and when I rolled in just before 2am, I was truly shocked. I'm unsure, exactly, how things went awry, but I do know that the glitch happened the final step: instead of heading home in taxis individually, we ended up heading to another bar together in a car.