Every weekend, I scrounge together enough cash so I can enjoy a good time with friends. Whether it’s buying a bottle of obscure wormwood liquor as a joke, consuming an obscenely large burger from Kuma's, or downing pints of craftiest of craft beers, I work hard to make sure I can take full advantage of wherever the weekend takes me.
Now, I’m a proponent of a good time, and I love to see other people spending their hard-earned cash on a night of tomfoolery, but it baffles me to see a horde of plaid-shirt-wearing 25-year-olds that hang by a delicate thread of tenuous employment guzzling down beer after beer, night after night. What’s even more perplexing is running into that cute, down-on-his-luck sucker as you journey toward the bar, who’ll tell you all about the terrible job he’s just lost as he orders another round of pibbers. And, I don’t know if it’s the cheap beer, or his spot-on combo of vans, skinny jeans, and a button-up, but at that moment, I truly feel for this dude.
So, I find myself late on a Sunday thinking about this issue from afar, wondering with earnest curiosity how one can afford to let the brews flow freely when the money flow is trickling at best. It sort of angers me in a way, because it makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong with my life, but when you add up all the facts, it just doesn’t figure.
Maybe, just maybe, I’ll figure it all out this weekend.
