It is a typical weekend night, the minute hand is itching toward last call, the playlist has started over from the top, and though you cannot pinpoint exactly when, it seems that the local watering hole has morphed into the annual Village Idiots Convention.
Inside voices were abandoned hours ago, dance moves have disintegrated into jerky convulsions, the smashes of glass bottles hitting filthy concrete floors are erupting like popcorn kernels towards the end of their cook time. There are few upstanding citizens remaining.
Most girls, as it is commonly known, are either about three misinterpreted sentences away from bursting into tears, or perched on the edge of an enormous blow out with a close friend over a previously unvoiced grievance that occurred first semester (freshman year). The waterworks are just barely at bay, and it appears that, for some, maintaining balance is becoming more and more of an insurmountable task.
Girls can be found repeating stories within a five-minute time frame, spitting out potentially offensive opinions to unsuspecting classmates and bar employees, and dropping their cell phones into mixed drinks. Brain filters seem to have gone on temporary smoke breaks, and nonsense is flying like spittle. This behavior is irritating, unattractive, and most decidedly un-ladylike, but as far as I am concerned, it does not present the biggest issue in the room. In a confined and cramped dive bar, being destructive trumps acting annoying.
Because, and though this can most certainly not be said about the entire male population, boys can become just that: highly, bizarrely and dangerously destructive. Girls may yap your ear into non-being, but it is unlikely that come 1:30 a.m. they will become suddenly and irrevocably convinced that everyone in the bar is either "looking at them funny" or "coming at them." But there often is a gentleman who becomes quite sure of just that. And, horribly, the fate of the evening can realistically rest in the hands (read: fists) of this one fixated drunkard. No one and nothing is safe. Unsuspecting potted plants, street signs, plaster walls and people all become attractive punching bags as soon as the aforementioned individual adopts this mindset.
We've all seen it: the abrupt and inexplicable violence that erupts without warning or merit. I've watched boys tear down a plaster wall after an NFL football loss; I've seen chairs, mini coolers, windows and a smattering of other inanimate objects fall victim to random acts of (obviously) unprovoked aggression. And while these instances of vandalism are certainly disturbing, the worst of them all is the bar fight.
You always know when it is about to happen: the sudden elevation of volume in a small pocket of the room, the crowd surge of people tripping over themselves and others in their haste to get out of the eye of the storm, the inevitable and unfortunate soul who incurs a stray punch or is trampled by an overzealous fleer, and the main event - two suddenly shirtless and red-faced boys attempting to land the greater majority of poorly aimed punches, each on the other's face.
Someone is knocked to the ground as the employees vault the bar and hasten to separate the brawl; a bottle breaks over someone's flip-flop-protected foot and glass wedges in their toes; mayhem claims its hold over the room. And meanwhile, no one is able to procure the semblance of an explanation for the rumble taking place just feet away from them.
Best case scenario: These two are dragged apart by friends, the whole lot of them is shown the door by the bouncer and the night is able to continue, though in a decidedly awkward and tense manner. Worst case scenario: The cops turn up, and one (or more) of these participants earns himself an overnight stint in the slammer, hospital or some combination of the two.
So, yes, girls can be a pain: annoying, nonsensical and prone to the sudden stumble. But you will rarely hear of girls landing each other in prison, the ER or (and this is obviously not a comment on Loyola) the morgue. So disagree if you will, but I have to hand guys the title of larger late-night liability. And if you do take issue with this, do me a favor, and don't bring it up to me this Saturday night. I'll probably cry about it.
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