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Blondes and Hefeweizen

We had had such a good time at the Toronado on Wednesday night, we decided to go on Friday night as well, on our way back from dinner. We usually tend to avoid going on Friday nights because for some reason, more not-from-the-neighborhood people have started going on Fridays. Let me assure you, this past Friday was no different. The best thing about it was that Pauly was working, and while he is almost always on the edge of scowly, there are times where he is scowly in full force and boy, is it ever entertaining! Plus Steve, who was helping Pauly out behind the bar, did not one but two Underbergs with us, which was a pretty cool bonding moment.

The night when we usually go is Saturday, which is a little less crowded with the not-from-the-neighborhood people. When we got there at 8:30 it was perfect: empty but not deserted, the crowd consisting of more locals than not. If you look at Avery’s entry, you may notice the abundant usage of the word “yuppie.” Because of that, I have been saying “not-from-the-neighborhood-people,” but let’s face it: that phrase is too cumbersome, and they were yuppies. The worst kind. Blech. Even the bartenders were commenting about it, though their perspective is a little bit different being behind the bar and all. So well groomed with their nicey-nice clothes, manicured nails and clueless minds. There was one shiny-haired Blonde Girl & Co. who asked for a beer…OK, forgive me, so I don’t remember which type. Let’s just say it was Hefeweisen. Anyway, she’s all “I want a Hefeweisen” and when she was asked “Which one? We have Franziskaner, Paulaner, Erdinger…” she says all snottily “What E-ver.” all seemingly offended that someone would actually ask specifically what she wanted to drink, for Christ’s sake. And that’s how you identify a hard-core yuppie. People who go to a bar dressed all wrong, ordering all wrong, and just generally acting all wrong, and out of their element. You don’t see us tromping into their fern bars wearing cargo pants and t-shirts and everything, so why can’t they just play in their own backyards? Was Gordon Beirsch all full or something?

Posted in The Barfly Chronicles.

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