The Wasted White Girl
She is no stranger to the college bar scene. You can spot the Wasted White Girl on the dance floor of your local club, college bar, or house party; heels in hand, hair thrown in a ponytail, drink(s) in hand. You could count the amount of fucks she gives on one hand, but it’s not necessary…the answer is ZERO! She can also be spotted in the bathroom, screaming into her cell at an ex or keeled over the toilet puking, mascara running down her cheeks. She makes her way through the crowded bar by hanging on to stranger after strangerasthough she’s navigating a human jungle gym; spilling her drink on shirts, laps, and, occasionally, in the hair of innocent bystanders. The Wasted White Girl has become such a pervasive model of inebriation that “white girl wasted” is now a thing.
At EVERY college bar there is that lone local lurking in the corner, usually an older man wearing a Hawaiian shirt drinking; on whiskey sour number six of Happy Hour. He sticks out like a sore thumb, but could care less. Tapping his fingers on his glass to the beat of the music, he looks on fawningly, the way your grandfather did at your high school graduation or the day you learned to ride a bike, into the mosh of prime, college bar appropriate, girls on the dance floor. This is how he reminisces about his own college bar-hopping days, that, or he’s just adding a few images to the spank bank for those cold, lonely nights. Avoid all eye contact or else you may be stuck listening to sob stories about his three failed marriages or how his son is in prison, or even worse, he could sneak attack you from behind on the dance floor, grinding his shriveled up package against your faultless ass. If he buys you a drink, kindly accept it, but beware…he may believe that he’s contracted a friend for the evening!
At every college bar, especially in small towns, you’ll never cease to find that one group of guys or girls that is visibly elated that they duped the bouncers and we able to creep in with their fakes. They’re loud, mosh in the middle of the dance floor, jumping up and down as if they’re at last night’s frat party, yet they don’t know what to order at the bar! They don’t really know much other than the fact that Natty Light is cheap, gets them “hammered”, and their older brother’s/sister’s ID is sufficient to buy it in mass quantities. These doe-eyed juveniles are a nuisance at the local college bar, and if you spot ‘em, don’t be afraid to yell, “GO HOME, ROGER!” (Sister, Sister, anyone?)
The Mooch is the WORST person to go to a bar with. Don’t be fooled by their sincerity, this guy or gal means Business! (Note the capital B) They are consistently “forgetting their cash at home”, promising to “pay you back”, or “get the next one”…their turn never comes. They instantly become best friends with the person buying the next round of drinks. Don’t be the fool who buys the pitcher of beer when The Mooch is out to play, it’ll be gone before you can tip the bartender. They’ll never cough up the cash, so do yourself a favor, and leave The Mooch at home next weekend.
The Horny Wallflower
The Horny Wallflower is not so much one person, but rather, the row of guys posted up against the wall closest to the dance floor. These guys came to the bar for one purpose: to slay some poon like knights used to slay dragons. You may catch one of them creeping on the outside of a dancing circle of girls; after having stared longingly into the group for four songs…to catch the rhythm swaying awkwardly, inching ever closer to the girls on the fringe. His “dancing” could be confused with a rain dance. If you’re lucky, you may even see him make contact with his prey. Stick around long enough, and you will see the infamous “pull away” by one of the victim’s friends. The “pull away” is often paired with an aggressive showing of the middle finger and some giggles. You’ll get ‘em next time, Champ! You can’t completely hate on him though; steadfast in his goals, you will likely spot him making out with the “wasted white girl” as the bartender screams “Last call!” They can’t all escape.
Note: The Horny Wallflower, most always, has a fridge full of alcohol for post-bar “hanging out”!