M (my roommie) and I were very bored last night. We spent a good hour sending each other IMs across the kitchen table. Every time she said something funny I would laugh, then once I had stopped laughing I would write LOL and send it to her. It was very postmodern.
Finally we decided we should make something of our lives. This involved drinking beer and not much more. First we went to HamiltonsI had never been to Hamiltons and was told I wasnt missing much but M said we should hit it since it was cheap and they had pool. Turned out the section with the pool table was roped of and half the bar had been taken over by the LU class of 54 reunion. So we figured wed try the Sovereign, which we always see when were walking home from the El but never thought to patronize. It was actually pretty perfect: three tables and a twisty bar; a few hipsters, a few thirty-somethings in button-down workshirts, a few drunks; import bottles for three bucks, free pool and a respectable jukebox. We had two beers each, played two games of pool, chose Roadhouse Blues, Apple Blossom and Jane Says.
We figured it was a warm night and since we were out we might as well explore the other public houses in our neighborhood. But the Sovereign had the bar pretty high and it was all downhill from there: Champions was dead and the bartendera middle aged woman with a mom haircut, very old Chicagoinsisted on hearing our life stories. Turned out M went to the same high school as her oldest daughter. Small fucking world. (Im kidding, of course. Irish Catholic Chicagoans have about three options when it comes to where theyll send their kids to high school.) She told us there were credits on the jukebox, so we played Pinball Wizard, CCRs Heard it Through the Grapevine (which they hadnt had at the last place, so M was happy now) and Wouldnt It Be Nice. We really wanted to leave, though, so we had a chugging contest. The bartender told us to come back on Sunday; her daughter would be working then and she and M could talk about old times. We said sure, of course, and hightailed it outta there.
We tried Memories, but it was just like Hamiltons only smaller and just slightly less fluorescent. The County Pub smelled so much like piss, but M really had to pee so we figured wed stay. We ordered Rolling RocksDraft or bottle? Draft. Mug or pint? Pint. Three-fifty. For TWO. A dollar fucking seventy-five for a pint of Rolling Rock. We were impressed.
M hit the bathroom and came back with a very sour look on her face.
Was it bad?
It was like those gas station bathrooms in the middle of Iowa that dont have a lock on the door. There were puddles involved.
Nice.
The clientele made for a pretty fascinating sociological study, the character with the greatest presence being an emaciated-looking grey-haired fellow making his way around the bar, occasionally leaning in to say something incomprehensible to another patron. There were a couple Indian guys across the bar, a yuppie looking couple and a few thick Hispanic guys. It was fun to people watch, but I was starting to feel a little queasy (I think it was the pee smell, and maybe the chugging at the last bar) and I really had to go to the bathroom so we decided to ditch our Rolling Rocks and call it a night. As we were walking out one of the Latino guys yelled Hey, thats some good beer youre leaving.
Heres hoping he did the sensible thing and finished them for us.
Now its today and Im hungry as shit and have no food in my house. Who wants to buy me lunch?
Finally we decided we should make something of our lives. This involved drinking beer and not much more. First we went to HamiltonsI had never been to Hamiltons and was told I wasnt missing much but M said we should hit it since it was cheap and they had pool. Turned out the section with the pool table was roped of and half the bar had been taken over by the LU class of 54 reunion. So we figured wed try the Sovereign, which we always see when were walking home from the El but never thought to patronize. It was actually pretty perfect: three tables and a twisty bar; a few hipsters, a few thirty-somethings in button-down workshirts, a few drunks; import bottles for three bucks, free pool and a respectable jukebox. We had two beers each, played two games of pool, chose Roadhouse Blues, Apple Blossom and Jane Says.
We figured it was a warm night and since we were out we might as well explore the other public houses in our neighborhood. But the Sovereign had the bar pretty high and it was all downhill from there: Champions was dead and the bartendera middle aged woman with a mom haircut, very old Chicagoinsisted on hearing our life stories. Turned out M went to the same high school as her oldest daughter. Small fucking world. (Im kidding, of course. Irish Catholic Chicagoans have about three options when it comes to where theyll send their kids to high school.) She told us there were credits on the jukebox, so we played Pinball Wizard, CCRs Heard it Through the Grapevine (which they hadnt had at the last place, so M was happy now) and Wouldnt It Be Nice. We really wanted to leave, though, so we had a chugging contest. The bartender told us to come back on Sunday; her daughter would be working then and she and M could talk about old times. We said sure, of course, and hightailed it outta there.
We tried Memories, but it was just like Hamiltons only smaller and just slightly less fluorescent. The County Pub smelled so much like piss, but M really had to pee so we figured wed stay. We ordered Rolling RocksDraft or bottle? Draft. Mug or pint? Pint. Three-fifty. For TWO. A dollar fucking seventy-five for a pint of Rolling Rock. We were impressed.
M hit the bathroom and came back with a very sour look on her face.
Was it bad?
It was like those gas station bathrooms in the middle of Iowa that dont have a lock on the door. There were puddles involved.
Nice.
The clientele made for a pretty fascinating sociological study, the character with the greatest presence being an emaciated-looking grey-haired fellow making his way around the bar, occasionally leaning in to say something incomprehensible to another patron. There were a couple Indian guys across the bar, a yuppie looking couple and a few thick Hispanic guys. It was fun to people watch, but I was starting to feel a little queasy (I think it was the pee smell, and maybe the chugging at the last bar) and I really had to go to the bathroom so we decided to ditch our Rolling Rocks and call it a night. As we were walking out one of the Latino guys yelled Hey, thats some good beer youre leaving.
Heres hoping he did the sensible thing and finished them for us.
Now its today and Im hungry as shit and have no food in my house. Who wants to buy me lunch?
VIEW 3 of 3 COMMENTS
and thats some great rollin rock prices. good beer, too.
i just sat at a friends house and drank budweiser. 12 bottles for $9.5ish. no i didnt drink them all, we split them. but you cant beat those liquor store prices.