The Drunk Look

There are many things that are guaranteed when having a night on the town in Sydney. You are guaranteed to pay too much for a cab. You’re certain to see at least one girl wearing shorts that used to be considered underwear. There’s a high possibility you’ll come across at least one reality television aspirant hurling or snorting while providing commentary on someone else’s philandering fiancé during a visit to the bathroom. Also in the bathroom will be a bleached blonde talking about the bitchin’ new beamer daddy gave her, and a natural blonde gossiping about a brunette who’s crying in a nearby stall.

I can now add, with the assurance of experience, that a bouncer will look me in the eye and tell me it’s time to go home.

This Saturday past, I was walking in to the kind of mediocre establishment that seems to latch on to new music the second it starts being considered old. Benny and I were catching up with some friends who had moved on to the next watering hole ahead of us. Benny (a girl… great name huh?) was at least a bottle of wine ahead of me and swaying, as if being rocked by a gentle breeze. I was perfectly coherent, and considering heading home before the taxi shift change went down. Benny got in, I didn’t.

“I think you’ve had more than enough. I can’t let you in.”

This has happened to me so often in the past 2 years that I laughed in the security man’s face. Once I was watching a friend who was so drunk she was crawling under the pool table when yet another (vertically challenged) bouncer tapped me on the shoulder and told me to leave. Then there was the bar wench who, when I tried to order my second glass of wine for the night, had me escorted out.

My friends tell me it’s my Drunk Look. My Drunk Look is what happens when you place me within the vicinity of a bar, and people assume my natural air of sarcasm and cynical irritation at the world is actually the appearance of someone who is heavily intoxicated. Essentially my regular, default expression can easily be mistaken for a drunk expression.

And now there is proof. This particular Saturday night, after laughing at the security guy, calling my friends to bid them farewell, and watching Benny trip up the stairs and run into a wall on her way in, I had to ask.

Me: This happens a lot, and I am intrigued. What about my general demeanor gives away the fact that I am drunken, lecherous and highly unstable?

Bouncer: (missing all sarcasm) Your pupils are too big… and you don’t blink enough.

Side note: I don’t do drugs (in case the pupil business got you wondering). So there you have it – the Drunk Look exists. To avoid it, stare into light fixtures and blink as rapidly as possible.

After making Jim walk into 2 other bars with me to prove a point (a pointless point, because the first bouncer didn’t know about it, but a moral victory none the less), I went home. At home I danced so vigorously I threw my knee out (wow, my knee, I’m that old, next step walking frame). This going out business is clearly a young person’s game – I imagine that’s why I spotted so many 16 year olds wandering in and out of various establishments. You can spot them as they discuss Justin Bieber’s latest baseball cap choice, tweet about their general awesomeness and avoid smiling so as not to display their dental braces. But their pupils are bang on, and they blink like a dream.


Painefull Out