This was not as far back as the Roaring Twenties, or even the Swinging Sixties. This was just recently. And it was a glorious time to be alive.
Guests would come over with gifts. Food and birthday cake would be served. There were fun activities like bobbing for apples and pin the tail on the donkey. Sometimes if you were really lucky, a clown might come out and make some balloon animals or do some magic tricks.
It was usually a great celebration but you and I both know that I am describing an adolescent birthday party. We all had them. I remember my own quite well.
Even with a summer birthday, my Mom and Dad made an effort to bring my friends together to celebrate my special day. When I was five years old, we had a party in our apartment where a clown played the guitar. I remember my mother telling me to remain calm while my pre-school classmates destroyed my toys and tortured my pet bunny.
Then there was the pool party when I was eight, by far my favorite childhood party. My mom forced me to invite everyone in the class, even John Booker, the kid I hated more than anything. Everyone had a blast. I received more gifts than I knew what to do with. Even John was quite tolerable that day. Neither one of us were strong swimmers so we both hung out in the shallow area while the more adventurous kids did back flips off the diving board.
Even small parties were fun. I had three friends come over to my country house when I was ten. I was so happy raising hell in the woods and playing Nintendo with those guys.
I am older now and I understand that those days are long gone. The birthday parties I attend now are a far cry from the ones of my childhood. You can’t even really call them parties. The clown, swimming pool, and backyard hijinx have all taken a back seat to what I call the, “Young Adult Birthday Celebration.”
In short, the older we get… the suckier the birthday parties get. Nowadays, a birthday party could best be described as a bunch of people getting together to spend money in a bar or restaurant. It sounds simple enough to be enjoyable but it’s not. The idea of it makes me sick when I consider what parties used to be like.
The gifts and party favors have been replaced by liquor shots and rounds of expensive cocktails. Nowadays alcohol is valued more than a nicely wrapped gift. The emphasis is on getting drunk rather than catching up with long lost friends you don’t get to see very often.
The planning involved with these drinking binges is much different from the method we all grew up with. When you are in your twenties, people send out this thing called an “Evite” which stands for electronic invitation. It would kill them to have to pay to have copies made or spend money on postage so they basically send out this email blast to anyone they might have ever come into contact with.
You can view the names of everyone else who was invited and if you like you can even leave comments like, “Can’t wait to see you!!” or “Can I bring my recently divorced friend?” or “I never liked you to begin with, why are you inviting me to your party?” and everyone else who was invited can read them.
If it’s a birthday girl who likes to dance, the party is usually held at some shi-shi nightclub or some new bar that recently opened downtown that charges a twenty dollar cover and you need to wear something that looks trashy but is actually very expensive to fit in.
The guys all roll their eyes when they hear that Sharon wants to go to Tunnel. The guys understand that no one will be able to talk to each other once they get inside and everyone goes broke purchasing their second drink. The birthday girl’s girlfriends are usually the first to chime in with, “But Sharon is turning 25 and she has always wanted to go to a club that David Schwimmer has set foot in and it’s just this one time.”
I would like to give Sharon a piece of my mind, but no one wants to be the lone voice of opposition. The girls go along with it because they don’t feel a need to talk to each other like the guys do.
Upon entering the club, the girls make strategic moves to the overcrowded dance floor which is littered with broken glass and crushed cocktail olives. They bump and grind with the other hip-hoppers and don’t really mind when someone smoking a cigarette accidentally puts it out on their new taffeta dress. They communicate with their friends by rump-shaking and rubbing up against each other in seductive ways which the guys watch from the bar area admiringly.
To them, it’s all worth it because David Schwimmer has been here. And though he’s not in attendance tonight, the ruined dress, the overpriced drinks and the hangover the next day are a small price to pay for the privilege of frequenting a club once tread upon by a Friends cast member.
The guys relent to the club/birthday party idea because they know there will be some eye candy. But all the time they are there, they are thinking about what a looser David Schwimmer is. They are also contemplating why Sharon is putting them through this. Why did she have to drag all her supposed friends with her? Why make them suffer to fulfill her idiotic birthday dream?
Guys want to go to bars with names like “McLowery’s Tavern” or “The Fox and Hound Saloon” where there is a beer special and you are sure to hear a song by the rock group Boston at least once an hour.
When it comes to birthday parties though, the guys aren’t completely innocent. They can be just as frou-frou as the ladies. One of my friends who makes a lot of money and who spends his time with other people who make a lot of money decided that he wanted to go out for a big expensive dinner for his birthday. I can understand that, and it actually seems like a good idea to sit down and break bread with the people you feel comfortable with as opposed to pretending to have a good time in a noisy club where no one has the guts to talk to any of the hot girls and everyone pretends to know and love the house music which is giving everyone in the place a headache.
This was the first dinner of its kind that I was attending and I was eager to fit in with the guys but more importantly, I wanted to make an appearance for my friend. When he invited me he said it would be a party of sorts. I did not read too much into this, and all I heard was party, so the day before I went to Best Buy and purchased a fairly expensive home electronics item which I knew the birthday boy was lacking and which I knew would bring him joy.
I like to treat my friends and when it comes time to give gifts, I genuinely enjoy giving them more than receiving them. I wasn’t going to be able to eat dinner with him and his buddies but I was looking forward to having drinks and hanging out all night. I thought this would be a fun filled Saturday evening.
So with my gift in hand and pep in my step I headed downtown to the fancy restaurant to celebrate my friend’s birthday. They were finishing up dinner which was nice because I knew I wouldn’t have to contribute to what is often a sizeable bill for these guys. I found a spot at the table and ordered a drink and made light conversation with those sitting near me.
When the time was right, I grabbed my friend and walked him over to the area where I had stashed the Best Buy bag and presented him with a DVD player. I did not want everyone else to see this because I did not want them to be embarrassed by not getting him anything.
He was blown away and gave me a big hug and an endless stream of thank-yous.
It was exactly the result I was hoping for and I was happy with the steps I had taken to make my friend’s day memorable, both with my presence and with the gift.
Both of grinning ear to ear, we went back to the table. He found his spot at the head and I found my spot towards the end and continued to sip my mojito. When I saw that everyone was getting another round, and planned to stay at least another twenty minutes, I ordered another drink knowing that it would be expensive but I would be spared the embarrassment of being at a social event full of alpha males without some kind of beverage in hand. I might hear it from them for not getting a strong drink like a scotch and soda, but this was fine by me. It was better to have something than nothing at all, and run the risk of being that guy at the table everyone wonders about.
The laughs continued and the dirty jokes and stories were told and then it was time to make moves to another bar where there would be attractive and available women. The first phase of the evening was complete; the birthday boy had a full stomach and was showing signs of drunkenness and now the lads were fired up and ready to try their hands at finding some companionship from some morally loose women.
The bill was summoned by one of the louder, more metro-sexual members of the party and when he looked at the number he did not bat an eyelash, and almost like a robot performing its primary duty, he swung out his platinum American Express card and announced to everyone that the celebrant would not be opening his wallet and that everyone should cough up eighty dollars.
Everyone nodded in agreement that the birthday boy should not pay a single penny and proceeded to go for their plastic and cash. I was amazed that even thought they were covering someone else, it still came out to that much a person. I felt pretty comfortable with where I was. I hadn’t enjoyed the yellow fin tuna or any of the eel hand rolls. No, I did not partake in the yaki-tori appetizers or the Mochi desert. I purposefully arrived late to avoid all that.
I made myself a bologna sandwich on whole wheat bread with mayonnaise and mustard and a can of corn with butter and salt and pepper and happily inhaled it before I left my house. While my cuisine wasn’t near as designer or as appetizing a meal as these future business leaders of America were indulging in, I was full and content and that was enough.
I knew I did not make as much money as these guys and I was fine with the fact that I couldn’t eat in the same manner they were accustomed to. I was happy to bestow upon my friend a gift he could enjoy over time as opposed to just a meal which I felt would be forgotten in a week.
Mojitos were eight bucks a pop, times two equaled sixteen dollars. I took a crisp twenty dollar bill out of my pocket and gave it to the ringleader collecting money and credit cards and said, “Here you go.”
He looked at me with a perplexed and agitated sneer. I stared back at him with a polite smile at which time he demanded, “Where’s the rest?”
“I had two drinks, I did not have dinner with you all. That should be enough.”
This answer did not sit well with him, and other people at the table were starting to take note of our conversation, most of whom I did not know very well. They were all surprised that a no-name like me was talking to this spiky haired, check master in such a fashion.
He came back with, “Yea, but we are getting comped at Headlines later, there’s usually a twenty dollar cover but Griffin set it up and covered us all. Come on dude, it all balances itself out in the hand,” and then he extended his hand to me, palm up and looked away to start counting the money which was making it’s way to him.
He said it in such a way that it felt more like a demand. There was no room to negotiate or haggle. He basically dictated that if I wanted to remain a part of the evening and hang out at the next destination than I would have to cough up some cash right now.
I felt intense hatred for this individual. I did not know where to begin. I wanted to stand up from the table to give him an idea of my size, grab him by the ears, lifting him up out of his chair, and then scream at him, “Listen you pompous jerk, I don’t know you and I certainly don’t know who the hell Griffin is and I certainly did not ask to be included on the guest list at Headlines where all you are going to do anyway is sneak off to the boys room to snort low grade coke with the other trust fund babies! And by the way, if it all works itself out in the end, why don’t you just cover the whole tab on your fancy little credit card with the cool looking hologram on it and impress us all with what a kind and generous individual you are!”
I wish I could tell you that I did the right thing and put that schmuck in his place as an example to all the other self-styled, Gordon Gecko wannabes seated nearby. But all I could look at was his outstretched hand and all I could feel were the table’s eyes on me to see what I might come up with. I was not very well known among this clique and if a stand was going to be made, I felt it should be made now, to set the record straight for all to hear.
But I relented, thinking how embarrassed my friend would be that I wasn’t economically comfortable enough to hang with this crew. The hate within me was growing with every second and with every twitch of the manicured hand with the gaudy, platinum and diamond Rolex that was still outstretched in my direction.
I smiled and reached back into my wallet and removed three of the four twenty dollar bills that remained. I folded them neatly and then pressed them firmly in the palm of the ringleader’s hand.
I can remember thinking how pretty those twenties looked. I had just gotten them out of the ATM machine before arriving. Whenever I hung out with the birthday boy it usually meant an expensive evening. He understood that I couldn’t always afford to participate in the dinners and social outings that he and his band of merry millionaire misfits frequented. He was understanding to my plight and always made an effort to pick up tabs and invite me out even when I stated that I did not have the funds to live it up in the manner he was accustomed to.
The more generous he was with food and drinks and social invitations, the more eager I was to show him that I was not out of place in the circle. There were a number of times when I picked up the bill for him and whatever floozy he may have been seeing at the time, or whatever chuckle head from work he might have invited out with him on that particular night. Even if I did not have it in the bank, I would pay for it just to pretend like I did, and give myself a feeling of financial danger.
But this was different. Now, one of the meatheads had demanded money from me in the name of friendship and camaraderie for our mutual acquaintance, (whom I am sure I was better friends with anyway). This was the first time anything like this had happened.
I was even more livid having given in and handed over the money to this cretin. This was rent money for me. But for him and the other popped collar halfwits the money was probably Tuesday night, “Hey, we are bored, let’s run up an insanely large check at the Four Seasons!”
With the gift already purchased and starting the evening out with one hundred dollars in hand, (sixty dollars more than what I accustomed to carrying at any given time) I was confidant that I might have had a chance to go home with enough cash to buy bagels in the morning.
Now I was at a point where I knew I couldn’t afford to achieve even a slight buzz and would probably be removed from Headlines, (wherever the hell that is) for carrying around an empty bottle of Coors Light.
I am sure a place like Headlines wouldn’t even carry Coors Light and that the cheapest beer available would be a twelve-dollar Miller High-Life.
I wanted to beat my eighty dollars out of this self-elected instigator. Even then, I probably would’ve asked for a receipt so I could frame it in my apartment and smile when I looked up at it. I have dealt with a lot of shady people in my time, but I have never been harassed into paying for a meal which I did not even eat by a twerp I did not even know.
The smart thing would have been to forget about the entire incident and concentrate on having fun with my friend. But I was seething inside even though there was a big plastic grin on my face. I wanted nothing more than to run out of the restaurant and deliver pizzas for the rest of the night in an effort to reclaim some of the funds that were lost.
When the self appointed money counter was satisfied with what everyone had contributed, he got up and led the charge out of the restaurant. I was right behind him.
As soon as our group was outside on the street, some of the party lit cigarettes while the others put their hands in the air to hail taxis. Were you thinking that this group rode the bus or the train…get a hold of yourself. I wanted to walk over to the bill Nazi and ask him where the limo was.
I stuck close to my friend but this was even more frustrating because he was officially three sheets to the wind by now and wasn’t making much sense. His speech was slurred and the only thing he was enthusiastic about was some song which was currently tearing up the charts by some artist I had never heard of. If you asked him what time it was, he would space out or ignore you, but if you put your arm around him and recited just one of the lyrics, he would spring to life and belt out the chorus for all on the street to hear.
I could tell the night was just beginning.
The cabs were summoned while the smokers took their last drags and I crammed into one of them for the ride over to Headlines. I was in the back seat behind the driver and one of the revelers had done a kind of stage dive into the packed car and now his head was resting in my crotch. The person sandwiched next, jamming his elbow in my ribs screamed to the driver to put the radio on and when he found the desired station, the entire car erupted in the same song that the birthday boy was belting out earlier.
Headlines was located under the train tracks in a part of town I had never visited. We poured out of the cab and I did not even bother to offer money for the ride. There was a red velvet rope outside and I was surprised no one was waiting behind it. A large bouncer in a three button suit opened the door for me as the other cabs started to show up. He did not mention a word about cover, and he seemed really happy that our group had shown up.
Once inside, I quickly scanned the room which wasn’t that crowded. I headed downstairs to check my coat and upon seeing that it cost two dollars I decided to hang on to it. When I came back upstairs the motley birthday party had formed around the bar and were ordering drinks. The birthday boy saw me and lit up and demanded I come over to him and the others.
He put his arm around me and asked me what I wanted to drink. I thought about it for a second, deciding between something cheap and something expensive. I thought perhaps one of the billionaire boys might pick it up for me as they were ordering their drinks in unison.
My friend pushed his way to a spot against the stomach high, brass cylinder ring of the bar and screamed an order at the very attractive bartender who was wearing a revealing halter top. She then looked at me. I did not make eye contact with her at first because her cleavage was so striking, but after a second I came to and ordered a rum and diet thinking this one was on him. As she prepared the drinks, I saw him go for his wallet. I did not feel so bad about the birthday boy paying for a round after I had bought him a gift and contributed to him and his friend’s dinner fund.
And then as soon as he was about come out with a bill, a friend of his, not at the dinner, appeared and the two began hugging and talking about how great it was to see each other and how much fun they were going to have tonight.
The bartender completed the drinks and pushed them in my direction and said $16.50. I thought about tapping my friend on the shoulder but I just did not have the heart to break up his conversation and demand money.
I took the last twenty out of wallet, placed it on the bar and pushed it in her direction and said thank you to her chest. The look in my eyes told her I wished I had order a beer. It was my finale and she probably took the money thinking what a nickel and dimer I was.
If I could have only told her about the Best Buy gift, the dinner check and now this last drink. Maybe she would light up, give me her phone number and whisper in my ear that all my drinks were on the house tonight and would I mind sticking around until she got off at 3:00am.
I lived a lifetime in that moment, but soon she was getting someone else’s drinks and I was stuck in the reality of my friend’s never ending birthday extravaganza. The birthday boy was now only talking in screams and giving aggressive stares to women patrons.
With both drinks in hand, I walked over to him. He was bellowing more music lyrics that made the music being played at Headlines sound even more terrible, but he was with the collections master from the restaurant. I handed my friend his drink and he spilled half of it while trying to grab it. I gave a dirty look at the other one. I wanted to shake his hand for allowing us all to come to such a prestigious and hard to get into location and then tell him to thank Griffin for me – whoever the hell that was, for getting us past the velvet rope and all the people waiting in line.
When the birthday boy left the both of us for a more entertaining part of the room, we both looked blankly at each other until he pretended to notice something over my shoulder and began walking toward it. I saw him go over to the hostess stand take a handful of individually wrapped tooth picks and place them in his pocket before invading the conversation of some other members of the group.
I looked the room over one more time and was amazed at how this loud birthday party had now become the center of attention. The other customers in the bar were staring at the birthday boy and all his drunken friends circled around him and rolling their eyes. I took a peak out the window and saw that there was still no one waiting in line to get in. The bouncer was having a cigarette with the valet parking guy. I am sure they were laughing at what a bunch of losers this place attracts.
My heart sank even lower when it finally became clear what a wash this night was. About the only saving grace for me was that I negotiated with the owner of the Japanese restaurant to store the Best Buy bag for my friend knowing full well he could barely pronounce his name more or less carry an expensive piece of electronic equipment.
Having spent the last crisp twenty on the two drinks, I was now broke. I thought about my options.
1.) I could nurse this rum and diet all night and pretend like I was having a good time.
2.) I could leave and make my way to the nearest bus/train station and go home. My Metro Card was paid for the month so I could always fall back on that.
3.) I could find out who Griffin is and accidentally spill my drink on him and his rich buddy who praises his name and then leave.
4.) I could ask the birthday boy for some money knowing full well he would give it to me and would never ask for it back because he is too boxed.
5.) I could offer to hold on to the birthday boys wallet so that he does not loose it and then run up a hefty bar tab with one of his numerous credit cards making sure to tip the hell out of the seductive waitress.
6.) I could go into the bathroom and call friends back home that I haven’t talked to in a while.
7.) I could find the prettiest girl in the room and tell her amazingly terrible things about the spiky haired provocateur at the restaurant, stressing what a cheapskate he is and how everyone should watch their wallet when he’s around.
8.) I could ask someone for a pen and begin writing this story down on cocktail napkins so that I never forget it and this kind of thing never happens to me again.
These choices were all bad and the longer I looked out the window at the empty street, the more I wished I had never come out tonight.
It was only 12:30 and I did not feel like enduring this any longer. I knew they would close the bar down at 3:00am and if they did not meet any girls than they would find an after hours place with even fewer girls than were here now.
The Birthday boy would need to be carried by this time and being one of the larger members of the group, I am sure this task would fall to me. Having struck out again, they would finish the night off at a diner at about 5:00am and talk about all the telephone numbers they did not get while someone fed chicken noodle soup to the birthday boy, probably me again.
None of this seemed appealing, so I swallowed the drink in one gulp and headed for the door. I looked back to see if anyone noticed me leaving. They had formed a kind of mosh pit in between a couple of the tables and were Kung-Fu kicking each while irritating all the people around them.
I walked past the well dressed bouncer and said thanks and then asked him where the hell I was. He explained the neighborhood a little and then instructed me on how to get to the train.
Though the evening hadn't gone as planned the Chicago Transit System was in rare form my train arrived after less than a two minute wait. I was home before one and after a couple bowls of Life cereal, I was under the covers and going over the evening in my head one last time.
There are some nights that are supposed to be great and don’t measure up. And then there are some nights which start out as nothing and become fantastic adventures. This evening was a draw. Even though my friend was off in his own little world, he had seen me earlier and would remember that there was a gift waiting for him at a Japanese restaurant when he eventually came to the next day.
I had played the role of the good friend. Tonight, it has been an extraordinarily daunting task. Even though the little amount of alcohol I had consumed only made me more agitated, there would come a day when he and I would laugh about what a great evening he thought it was. He would think about how wasted he got and how everyone had just as much fun as he did. I knew the truth but I would never tell him about his asinine friend who embarrassed himself. These are things best kept quiet.
But, good or bad, I would never forget it either. Just like I wouldn’t forget the cab ride to Headlines or the bartender or the look on the coat check girl’s face when I did an about face after learning the cost of having her baby-sit my coat for a couple of hours.
I fell asleep thinking about the discussion they would all have early that morning at the diner. The birthday boy would have more food on his clothes than on his plate, and the spiky haired twit and Griffin would probably share a milkshake and stare lovingly into each other’s eyes and fantasize about the sheer joy they would experience later on when washing all the product out of each other’s hair.
I would laugh about this the next morning as I scrounged around my apartment looking for change to get an everything bagel with cream cheese.
