Barfly: The Qualifications of a Proper Drinker

“You don’t deserve that degree you have, you just have a fancy piece of paper with horrible typography that was handed to you in error!”

Conversations in bars tend to go from amicable to near violent in seconds. Especially if said bar is near a university and the smell of testosterone in the air is practically palpable. It’s Saturday and we’re at a favourite local joint with new graduates, some Masters students and a few fourth years. It is all going well until about the third round, when one of the Masters students offers to buy the table of ‘young ones’ a round of beers.

“You know you kids are still stuck here in school; you don’t know the good life of having a degree and actually being able to buy a beer with your own money,” he informs them, smugly.

This statement does not go over well with the fourth years. I on the other hand never turn down free beer so, despite the fact that I have a job and should be the one offering round the largesse, happily accept. The beers are brought and we veer away from the topic of graduates and non-graduates but only until it comes to buying another round. Then once again, the obnoxious Masters student offers to pay. His entire manner is in fact getting quite annoying but I am not as put off as the other guys at the table. Being insulted while their girlfriends looked on was definitely not on their list of stuff to do when they left their student quarters earlier.

“The only thing you did when you were in school here was drink and chase girls. I mean the day of your final exams you bragged about how you had to cheat in order to pass. Why even bother talk about how you’re now earning your own money, when you work in your father’s company?” perks up one of them, defiantly.

The two groups face off across the table: the former students unable to deny the claims and the fourth years smugly looking at them, as if they’d just won bragging rights at the World Cup. I nurse my empty bottle, having chugged the remaining beer in anticipation of the next round, which evidently at this point is no longer coming.

“Let’s get out of here Adam, we’re tired of listening to these guys,” says one of the fourth years, nudging me hard.

I stand up and leave, having weighed the benefits of the financially stable older students buying power, against my peers’ decision to go to a different joint. The next bar turns out to be a dingy hole in the wall, whose main selling point is Senator keg (a large keg of draft flat beer which, for what we can make out, is made from the dregs of all the other beers in Kenya and is extremely popular in low-income watering holes). We sit down on the plastic sheet covered dilapidated benches and launch ourselves into this new, affordable round of drinks.

After my first sip of keg I begin to earnestly have doubts regarding my decision to stay with the fourth years. As we sit, hand hovering over the straws that are placed in our individual jugs, I can’t help but note that there isn’t much in the way of conversation happening. The sullen girlfriends that have accompanied their defiant men to this joint, are far from happy and as a sign of protest are refusing to imbibe themselves with this undeniably unladylike alcoholic beverage. This perception appears not to be shared by a group two tables over, in which a group of what I assume are freshman girls aren’t even bothering with the straws. Before they have even finished chugging down their litre of watered down lager, they are already eagerly ordering another round.

Yet the mood, it feels, was ruined earlier at the much cleaner and respectable bar. After few awkward attempts at conversation with the ladies in our group (it seems that I missed the boat on the whole “How have you been?” and “How’s your sister doing in the States” side of the conversation), I finally stand up, made a barely intelligible excuse and walked out of the dimly lit establishment, while placing a call to the Masters students.

Solidarity is a great thing. But when it translates to cheap keg, surly girls and dingy bars, it’s just not worth it.