So a
couple of weeks ago a put up a post regarding the etiquette of
intersexual drink-buying at bars. Lo and behold, this past weekend
a friend of mine got burned at the tav by falling for the exact
trap that my post warned against. Accordingly, I felt compelled to
repost for the benefit of all the beautiful women in Salt Lake who
don’t want to scroll all the way down to find the original post.
This may be redundant, but I cannot in good conscience let this
phenomenon go overlooked. So here it is again: Why I didn’t Buy You
a Drink.
You: Cute girl at the bar. Me: The guy you
chatted with while waiting for our drinks. The Topic: Why I didn’t
buy you a drink. The Audience: Women everywhere, please read this.
I know it’s long, but I feel the length is expedient to truly
illustrating and arguing my point.
I
was waiting to order right as things were getting crazy. It was
obvious that it would be a long wait. What can I say? I can’t
compete with all the douches yelling for jager bombs. It was then
that you appeared. A cute, petite, slightly hipster-ish girl
standing next to me, waiting to order as well. The conversation
began in the typical manner, simply relating on how frustrating it
is when you spend half a night out just waiting for a drink. It
then evolved into a true conversation. I spent the next twenty
minutes finding out you have great taste in music, movies and
literature. You laughed at my jokes, and that’s a big deal to
average-looking guys like me. Unfortunately, after we’d both
finished our respective drinks, but were still immersed in
discussion, you dropped a bomb that sent shrapnel into my
heart.
“So are you gonna buy me a drink or
what?”
I
had been dreading this moment. I’ve learned from hard experience
that any prolonged conversation with a girl at a club or a bar
inevitably requires a fee of rum and coke, vodka tonic, or God
forbid, a cosmo. As cute as you were, I felt obligated to retain my
self-respect.
//
“Sorry, I don’t buy girls drinks. Just kind of
my policy.”
You
looked at me like I told you I was going to rape your dog Charlie
(yes, I remember his name). Your face morphed from a beautiful
smile into a twisted caricature of shock, revulsion, and utter
disbelief.
“Seriously, you’re not gonna buy me a drink?
What’s your problem?”
Well sweetheart, let me explain to you in detail
my logic regarding this decision that you found so
unbelievable:
- I’ve been going to bars for a couple of years
now. I enjoy meeting people when I do. I enjoy meeting attractive
girls like yourself. I have, however, learned that buying girls
drinks is a sucker’s game. Yes, it has developed into sharing my
bed for the night a couple times, but 90% of the time, all it does
is give me a higher bar tab. Now you might say I’m a prick for
expecting a girl to sleep with me just because I buy her a drink. I
agree an $8 cocktail does not and should not equal a sexual
encounter. However, I believe spending time and money on a girl
when I could be having a good night out with my friends does
entitle me at least one of the following things: You reciprocating
by buying me a drink, you giving me your phone number and/or going
out on a date with me, where once again I will be spending time and
money on you. Notice that sex is not a requirement or expectation
that is coupled with any of these options. Now, of course, if I had
offered to buy you a drink, and you accepted, you are not obligated
to any of these things. The big distinction here is that you asked
me to buy you a drink, and were shocked that I wouldn’t do so. This
brings me to my second point.
- You know exactly what you’re doing. You’re an
attractive girl, and when you go out there is no shortage of guys
offering to buy you drinks. You know that they are all doing so
with the hope that it will lead to sex with you. You know that it’s
not going to happen, but you will accept the free drinks anyway. I
don’t hold this against you. If they’re dumb enough to think that
buying you a drink is the key to your heart and that they are
somehow different from the other Ed Hardy-wearing frat-bros then
it’s their own damn fault. You’re using your god-given assets to
get free alcohol, nothing wrong with that. But it is precisely
because I know that you do this that I will not be another douche
who thinks he can get into your pants with a mixed drink. It’s
insulting to my dignity as a man and your honor as a woman. I
noticed you when you first walked in. I saw you dancing with that
hopeless collar-popper. I saw him go to the bar and bring a drink
back to you on the dancefloor. I saw how the second the glass was
in your hand, you gave him the “Thanks for the drink, it was really
nice meeting you” treatment complete with the obligatory pat on the
chest. I saw the pathetic, defeated look on his face as you walked
away. He will enter the next round of bar hopping a little wiser I
hope.
- You took my unwillingness to fall into such a
trap as an insult. You accused me of being stuck-up. You then said
that I had a chance at fucking you, but that I’d ruined it by being
an asshole. What exactly are you trying to tell me? That the
asinine idea that getting a girl a drink will get you in her pants
is actually true? That your decision of whether or not to sleep
with a guy is based on him liquoring you up? We had a good
conversation, and maybe you were actually interested in me. But the
fact that any rapport we built was destroyed when I wouldn’t buy
you a gin and tonic means that I am no longer interested in you.
Not all guys are desperate sperm donors. Some of us actually value
a good conversation, and we value girls who have enough respect for
themselves that they don’t view sex as a transaction.
- We
established during our conversation that we are both broke-ass fine
arts students. Why then would you expect that I, someone who shares
your financial woes, would want to spend money on you, a girl I
just met? I don’t believe that chivalry is dead. I’ll hold a door
for you, I’ll pull out your chair or take your coat. I’ll help you
change a flat tire, carry you over deep puddles, figure out the
remote, reset your modem. I’ll even help you move when I know you a
little better. Why? Because I’m a gentleman. I will not, however,
buy you a drink under the pretense that it is what a gentleman
does, because I simply cannot afford it. If you want a guy who can
afford to buy you whatever you want, find a fifty year-old sugar
daddy. There was no shortage of potentials at the bar the other
night.
I
hope this illustrated my thought-process clearly enough. I hope you
realize that you seemed amazing at first, and that declining to buy
you a drink was in no way an insult. Your reaction, however,
revealed the self-entitled, game-playing she-devil that was lurking
underneath. I thank god for the out that he provided at that moment
though. Just after you finished your little rant on what I dick I
was for not boozing you up, a group of girls emerged at the bar
right behind you. Two of these girls were thin and pretty. They
immediately got the attention of some bros and had free drinks
within minutes. The third girl was overweight and out of place. She
had clearly spent a great deal of time and effort on her
appearance, but alas, she was once again forsaken by her prettier
friends and left to stand by herself, looking miserable. Luckily, I
know when the universe has given me a profound gift. There were two
incredible moments that filled me with an elation that could not be
rivaled by the orgasm I would have had while fucking you. The first
was the sincere, excited smile that the chubby girl gave me when I
moved past you and asked what she wanted to drink. The second was
turning back and seeing the look of horror on your face. You
pathetic “have fun with the fatty” remark as you walked away was
priceless. I may be broke, but I was willing to go into the red to
make this girl’s night and to piss you off. I’m sure as soon as you
left you got plenty of free drinks and plenty of idiots drooling
over you. I just hope that I got under your skin enough to prevent
any enjoyment of those things.
I
had a great night. I introduced the big girl to an open-minded
friend, and as I write this they are across the hall having loud
sex. Normally going to bed alone, subjected to the sounds of
raucous lovemaking across the hall would be a serious downer. But
tonight, as I crawl into my lonely bed, I will go to sleep
comforted by the fact that I have retained my self-respect. Having
encountered more than a few spoiled bimbos, I infer that sex with
you would have consisted of you lying on your back expecting me to
be so grateful that I’m seeing your “hot” naked bod makes up for
the fact that you are putting absolutely no effort into this sexual
experience. This may just be me trying to justify going to bed
alone tonight, but hey, what can you do?
The
moral: Ladies, accept drinks if they are offered. Do not expect
them. And if you’re feeling particularly wild on a given night,
offer to buy the guy a drink. He will be instantly
smitten.