The irony of a bar that is both in the middle of 4 colleges and some of the highest property values around is that you can find the same people but 20 years apart.
The privilege that shows in 21 year old college kids only slightly morphs when they are in their 40s and at a youth hockey fundraiser.
Moms who used the same cutting technique on their boyfriends ts for homecoming parade around with suddenly adapted youth hockey ts. Off the shoulder. Deep v. Same style. Different moments.
Dads who used to proclaim their future or dream university in their headwear - a local fave or a recent national champ - or even some obscure smaller school who’s mascot can be some sexual or penis inuendo - now proudly wear the hat from their last expensive vacation, Vail, Banf, or their business or preferred golf brand affinity.
They haven’t forgot the bars of their college years. There is no such thing as a fire code, crowd as close the bar as you can. Then act as if you’re in the pit on Wall Street. Wave money, yell, gesticulate like you’re helping to land a 747. Whatever it takes to get the bartender’s eye.
And when the drink is ordered, it is no longer both an order and a recipe. While rum and coke or vodka cran may have been enough for them at 21. Now those words are simply the beginning of half negotiation, half status.
“Oh is that your rail?!” I’ll take *insert brand name*
Anything to remind the world that they have evolved from 21. They are well pass the rail life.
Once the drinks are obtained, then the real social battle begins. Pair off in twos and threes. Years ago this was all about flirting and sly smiles. A brush of the arm or giggle. A comment a bit too bold.
But now the game has changed. No longer is the battle about carnal needs or pursuits.
Now it is about status. The last trip. The new promotion. What junior did on the ice this week. Why the offspring is primed for a big year. Perhaps it was a skating camp or a new techy tool to improve hand eye coordination.
A sea of established white people talking. Proclaiming. Posturing.
And not a single one listening
