Recently, I and my three colleagues, Dr.’s Worthman, Smith and Piccione, conducted and observed a social attitudes experiment here in our fair city of Boston. We, for countless hours, observed the human species interact and engage with one another. The experiment was demanding and the results we found to be groundbreaking and conclusive. We dabbled in the intricacies of science and came out better men — more knowledgeable men. Our group came to the stunning conclusion that alcohol acts as the leading icebreaker in singles interacting with one another and suggests a high correlation that this interaction will lead to further relations. In laymen’s terms — booze is the primary reason people are getting laid.
Darwin may have been right, for the foundation of nature suggests that the strong will survive, and the weak will be eliminated. But the stage isn’t the jungle, for the jungle has become the weekend bar scene. This very well may be true, but it seems Chuck may have overlooked a critical variable in his hypothesis-beer goggles. Genetics and the laws of nature may have found its kryptonite in malt liquor and ice teas brewed in Long Island, for reasoning and standards are rarely considered when there are dollar drafts or quarter pitchers brought into the picture.
This, I am sure, is of no true surprise to most of you. I know that in my collegiate career I have had one or 44 of my own indiscretions I regret and blame solely on alcohol consumption. And binge drinking may not only lead to stomach pumping and excessive finds and community service from BU, but it runs a very high risk of waking up next to someone, for lack of better words, ugly.
Well, during our research, we found what we most feared — drunk folk looking to take home a piece of tail before last call. It was indeed a sad state of affairs.
As I sat, quietly sipping my Shirley Temple watching Pavlov’s reality come to life, I became somewhat disenchanted. But it wasn’t the ringing of bells that resonated through the smoky room. Instead, it was Ace of Base, Shai and Color Me Badd. In the background, I sat observer to the strange phenomena that is the late 20-something phylum’s mating calls.
“How can a pretty girl like you not be holding a pretty drink?”
“Hey those are some great pants, they’d look good on my bedroom floor.”
“You look like you could use a drink.”
These people do exist, no matter how badly I wish they didn’t. And they push alcohol on one another like it was a vaccine to cancer. Because not only is alcohol used as an excuse as an opening line, but it breaks down boundaries and inhibitions, making one not realize or care how desperate or boring their new friend may be.
I watched for an hour or so and came to the stunning conclusion that once men and women reach a certain age, they make it blatantly obvious when they want to sleep with one another. All the subtle flirting techniques they groomed through the years are no longer needed. Charm, hygiene or viable pulses are simple added bonuses on the quest to bringing someone home with you because most aren’t expecting much. And dancing acts as the barometer to which acceptable suitors are judged.
Someone once said dancing acted as the vertical expression of horizontal desires. I know that’s complex, but think about it. I actually saw women with mouths ajar staring at one man they commented on “how limber he was” and “you know what that means” with smiles and jabs to the rib. And to watch them dance is amusing in itself. These people aren’t our parents age either folks, they are but six to eight years older than us. And somewhere along the way, they lost sight of rhythm, and their dancing turns out to resemble a drunk, bizarre version of MTV’s the Grind. When they do engage in conversations, they talk about vacation time, mergers and acquisitions.
It puzzles me because I wonder if these people think that they will find their future husband or wife in these bars — believing they will bump into one another and see they are drinking the same exotic drink and fall instantly in love. Instead of learning to get to know someone, falling on love and consummating a relationship, these people have reversed the order. They feel sex will bring them closer together and foster the foundation of a real relationship. Statistics show successful couples usually meet one another in church, gyms and bookstores. But ours is a generation that doesn’t pray; we buy ab-massaging gadgets on late night infomercials and buy books on tape. We have resorted to laziness and our standards have suffered as a result. The divorce rate is high and ugly people are breeding. Things must change quickly.
After reviewing the data, we came to the following conclusions. Instead of being set up by family or friends or writing a personal ad, singles are starting to find companions with the help of old friends Mr. Cuervo, Beam and Daniels. I contest these men should be personally held responsible for the fluctuating population in this country and the consequential high divorce rates.
I will never forget that horrific glimpse of the singles scene I came across that chilly winter night. Men and women, alike, were prostituting themselves for a buzz, for a sense of acceptance to fulfill their ultimate search of acquiring a mate. Is this the social scene we all have to look forward to? Will I find my wife in a bar, among the slurs form drunk men, the smoke from Parliament Lights sitting next to a jukebox and some guy throwing up? I seriously doubt it, for I am what you may call a romantic. My wife’s going to be a stripper.
This is an account occasionally used by the Daily Free Press editors to post archived posts from previous iterations of the site or otherwise for special circumstance publications. See authorship info on the byline at the top of the page.
