That looks expensive. Don’t you have anything in paper cups?

Senior Editor’s Note: This post and its contents have not been verified for their veracity. Furthermore, I am very conversational, just not with losers, Dad! I don’t waste my wit on the weak and ineffectual. I make fun of the people who are asking for it. And at the very least, my goal is to make people laugh in bars and steer them away from the usual, “So, come here often?” Because in what boring world is that ever a good way to start a great conversation? (Never, Dad. Never. Maybe you would have dated more if you complimented girls on their doll-like hair. Don’t be a hater, Dad.) – Daughter

It was with a slight sense of bemusement that I reviewed Daughter’s post recounting her random bar-hopping, anti-social, non-conversational interaction activities during a recent evening out with “the crowd.”

Trust me, I frequently witness the endless prepatory steps that eventually lead to her departure into the dark Southern California night for places not frequented by me and, quite frankly, I’ve never seen so much effort exerted by someone who seems to increasingly resemble Bettie Page, no matter what she wears.

In contrast, whenever I head out for a “special evening,” the usual critique thrown in my direction is, “You’re really going to wear that, Dad?”  Well, I figure I can get away with almost any outfit if I’m covered with my Trusty Turkish Friend.

What interested me most about Daughter’s post-modernistic tale is how dramatically different it is than my own experience at the same age many years ago.

Though not destitute, I think it would be fair to characterize my financial situation in college as dramatically challenged.  No, I didn’t walk four miles through snow in my bare feet to go to school, but I was known to make surreptitious after-hours sweeps through some of the academic halls to grab empty soda bottles so that I could return them for the deposit money.  I did have a car (the actively rusting shell of a Chevy Vega), but I never remember having a full tank of gas.  I do remember, however, asking my soccer teammates to pitch in for fuel on Saturday mornings before heading out to the field to play.  Between the four of us, we usually managed to scrape together something in the neighborhood of $1.37, which bought enough gas to transport us out and back with about ten cents to spare.

Many times I skipped the team lunch at McDonald’s because buying a meal there was a huge deal for me financially.  It was tight.

So, work with me here.  Given that sort of draconian revenue situation, Daughter’s “modern clubbing” was never a real option back then.  It would have required both self-confidence and shekals — I possessed neither. 

Instead, a big Friday night consisted of getting together with a couple of my friends (no girlfriends yet for us losers), walking over to the Student Union, and bowling a couple of games, maybe augmented with some foosball (look it up in Wiki, children).  I seem to remember the cost per student in the bowling alley was all of 25 cents per game.  I could swing that.

There were a couple of key elements, however, that made the night more enjoyable and less costly.  First, we always designated a “beer frame” in each game, the loser of which was on the hook for a round later.  So it was especially important that one of the friends in the group was more pathetic than the rest of us at bowling — usually not too hard to orchestrate.

Second, we walked everywhere.  Remember walking, kids?  No car, no ga$, no DUI, no problem.  It made things infinitely easier.

Third, our favorite pub sat just off campus, and was usually fairly empty since it was primarily frequented by graduate students and other assorted freaks of nature.  I would never describe it as popular.  Homely, yes.  Typically no girls, bummer.  But it was a jewel.

Why?  The main attraction was 32oz draft beer served in wax-lined paper cups.  These drinking vessels apparently went the way of disco in the early 80s, but they were common back then.  No, it wasn’t actually the cup itself that was attractive.  But every successive refill cost ten cents less than the previous drink.  What an absolutely marvelous marketing idea, and we took full advantage of it.  Plus, this place had a small grill behind the bar, and they could cook up some good eats cheaply.  To order anything, small pads of paper were strategically scattered on the bar, and you wrote out what you wanted on a slip (using a real pen or pencil) and then handed it to the barkeeper.

No iPhones, no texts, no Twitter, no Stinkin’ Facebook, no menus (a blackboard above the grill listed the available fare), no iPads — just a lot of “no’s.”  Real basic.

So, for about three bucks and change (I usually split the cost of food with a friend), it was a full night out, and I would wander home in the wee hours with a full (and slightly queasy tummy) and a warm buzz. 

Today, I spend about the same amount during a typical visit to Starbucks, even without buying one of Daughter’s favorite “foo-foo” drinks (that I have no idea how to order). 

True, these nights of yore featured little of the bar-scene give and take that, apparently, makes up the bulk of Daughter’s forays into the night.  But I also avoided the resulting contretemps such ventures seem to generate for her. 

In comparison, my experience was somewhat boring and never, ever featured Lesbian Christmas Bingo Dancing (LCBD), but it suited me just fine and reinforced that all-encompassing maxim of my life:  Never be ashamed of what you can afford. 

Believe me, I’ve got plenty of other things to be ashamed about, but I’ll keep those secrets between me and Bettie Page. 

– Dad