150 Fridays

Own your Chicago weekends. You've only got so many left.

Happy Daze: The cure to all of life's problems

I was walking down Rush street the other day past Le Colonial. As I passed, I saw a waiter staring out the window serenely, clearly taking in the great weather. He and I made eye-contact and his expression changed. As he stared at me, I saw a look in his eyes that resembled the first time I realized I only had 150 Fridays until I was 30.

It was a look of sheer terror.

And that’s when I remembered I had seen that look before. Yes, I knew exactly who this abrasive-looking gentleman was and I couldn’t help but combat his cobra-like stare with a big grin.

I was walking down Rush street the other day past Le Colonial. As I passed, I saw a waiter staring out the window serenely, clearly taking in the great weather. He and I made eye contact, and his expression changed. As he stared at me, I saw a look in his eyes that resembled the first time I realized I only had 150 Fridays until I was 30.

It was a look of sheer terror.

And that’s when I remembered I had seen that look before. Yes, I knew exactly who this abrasive-looking gentleman was and I couldn’t help but combat his cobra-like stare with a big grin.

It was two years ago in April and the weather was just starting to get nice. It was the day I learned the greatest remedy of all and this man unknowingly played the role of ER-George Clooney. He was the doctor of drinks that afternoon and I was the patient in an episode I call, “Day Drinking.”

Yes, day drinking. Don’t lie, you know you love it. How many times have you walked by a table of people on a gorgeous work afternoon and have seen them laughing, kicking back and drinking some beers and you being so envious, you’re half tempted to plop down like a weirdo and join?

Anyway, it was two years ago almost to the day that I had officially reached my first quarter-life crisis. Without going into the specifics of why I saw a large, black abyss when I thought of my future, just know that it had something to do with not getting selected as host for a horseracing show….don’t laugh please.

But at that particular moment I was devastated, and my then horse-less life, as I knew it, was over. So I called one of my best friends who I knew could leave his job in the middle of the day. He had two words for me: day drink. The truth of the words rang out as soon as he said them.

Now, I am not a raging alcoholic, nor am I promoting drinking at odd hours of the day as the answer to life’s problems (which it very well may be). But lets be honest, this was an emergency and he knew that a plan of action would have to be implemented in order to thwart the imminent life break-down. The only way to counter-balance my horse-induced devastation was to partake in the best of all warm-weathered traditions.

And so we planted ourselves at a prime outdoor table at Le Colonial on this particular gorgeous Friday afternoon. Eight hours (I am not kidding), one box of Kleenex, several bottles of champagne (isn’t my friend great! Even in my woe, he knew better to view that day as a celebration with bottles and bottles…and bottles of champagne) and several angry stares by the Le Colonial wait staff later….I had clarity on my life. And a voodoo doll replica of myself (I am positive), handcrafted by the man I saw the other day in the Le Colonial window.

My friend Chris and I single-handedly saw 10 different groups of people come and go throughout the course of the day…and night… in this man’s section. Apparently, even if you rack up a ridiculous drinking bill, snagging the “hot” table on a Friday night and not eating is not kosher. Each time the waiter came back he asked if we wanted to order food, and each time we’d respond in what was certainly a slurred, “nope…just one more drink though.” In retrospect, the same look I saw the other day is in fact the same look he was giving us most of the day, but I was too focused on our champagne.

But I learned several things that day:

1. I decided I should go back to grad school and viola, here I am at Northwestern…so the day, was ultimately a success.
2. 9 PM is a perfectly acceptable time to continue to wear sunglasses.
3. If you see the same people on Rush street stare at you incredulously after they have seen you at the same table with drinks for almost a full working day, it’s best to stare back at them confidently; there is no place for shame in day drinking.
4. Our waiter almost cried with joy when we finally paid our bill. Apparently, most waiters really don’t like you after the 7th hour of waiting on you…the nerve right!
5. Day drinking can cure all of life’s problems, if you will just give it a chance.

Some other favorite day drinking establishment: The now-defunct Melvin B’s, but I believe Cactus and Cantina is still open next door too it; Cru; Chaise Lounge; Castaways; Lux Bar; and obviously, Wrigley Field!

Tis the season!

Cheers

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About this blog

It's been three years since I could say, "I totally just graduated from Wisconsin," two years since I could rent a car and one year since I was ousted from the cherished 18-26 year old demographic group.

I turn 30 in 150 Fridays. So let's make the most of them. The clock's ticking for you, too.

Each week, I will suggest new and different places for you to experience in this divine city. I've lived here for 27 years and know my way around, but if you've got a favorite spot, write me. Let this column be our weapon of choice against twenty-something clichés. About the Author.

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