Believe it or not, going out in the real world differs a bit from the oh-so-familiar and, don’t get me wrong, well missed, Shooters Saloon II. For starts, the fact that it’s not ¼ of the bar-goers first experiences with alcohol definitely has a way of improving the atmosphere. Or perhaps it’s that going out is no longer a means of letting off steam from piles of problem sets, a six week long midterm season, and trying to keep up with an increasingly cryptic meme page. Or maybe (just maybe) it is the lack of overwhelmingly patriarchal systems that typically run college socializing – think frats providing alcohol at pregames and guys often buying the drinks at the bar. Whatever it is, I think I like it.
Let’s start at the beginning. Approach the bar and you’ll find both men and women buying their own drinks for themselves or their friends. What’s that mean? Guys, you’re off the hook. Keep the change for round two rather than you’re new lady friend who’s fiendin’ for a vodka Redbull. And ladies, you’re free of that invisible debt that follows you around after the nice guy turned too touchy guy offers you a free shot.
Now, drink in hand, take a look around a Cope bar and who do you see? Typically small co-ed pockets playing drinking games, dancing, generally keeping to themselves. You go out with your friends to be with your friends, and typically so does everyone else. When it comes to meeting new people two groups will typically merge together, rather than dancing groups of girls surrounded by guys on the prowl who line the dance floor. Now picture yourself mid-Shoots dance floor. TSwift’s Wildest Dreams just came on, your goddamn jam. In your circle of all girls, you make the mistake of throwing your head back and accidentally catch a glimpse of the second floor bar. You’re greeted by 60 Durhamite eyeballs enjoying your performance from above. Prey meet predator.
All right, forget the creeps, you’re here to dance, right? So the music makes the night. While the masterful DJs of Shooters Saloon surely appreciate a good throwback (and we appreciate you right back for that,) you don’t know a tbt ‘til you’re in the basement of Night Fever dancing to Mambo No. 5, I Wanna Dance With Somebody, or Copenhagen’s specialty, the YMCA. (If you’re not ready to throw up your letters with the utmost enthusiasm, you know it’s time to go home.)
So while often times there’s no place like home (I’ve yet to find a mechanical bull or elevated cage in this country,) there is something to be said for a going out scene that does not require one to be 8 shots deep to enjoy.