Mariel L.
Yelp
I mostly come to The Bad Old Days to sit next to a beautiful man and watch him out-drink me while we rattle on about our stresses from work. On this particular night, I was walking to the bar from the train when I was hit with this intense wave of loneliness after listening to Selena Gomez's newest single. I stood there for a moment staring at the front door, telling myself that if I can manifest some sort of fake happiness, maybe it will stick. I wiped my eyes with my sweatshirt sleeve, took a deep breath, told myself to grow up, and walked inside.
As I sat in the corner and ordered a Narraganset, I couldn't help but overhear a bespectacled man with a dad bod brag about repeatedly blowing off his Tinder date because "she might be fat." I'm not going to lie: the last few months have made me almost completely lose my faith in humanity, and dudes like this feel like a gut punch. I really did contemplate lunging at him in the way sitcom bartenders slide drinks across the bar top, but the bartender started talking to me and gave me a shot. He's so cool, but I always forget his name, and at this point, he's told me so many times I can't ask again. It's just one of those things I'll have to live with not knowing, like who decided Narraganset was going to replace PBR as the official beer of Brooklyn and why we're even on a planet where less-than-average-looking guys feel like they have a license to reject women because of their appearance. Why aren't we afforded the same amount of grace? Why can't we be average?
Eventually, my beautiful friend came back from cigarette break, and I was surrounded by that nostalgic, warm scent of whiskey and smoke. My heart felt 22 again, and the bartender let me play "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" over the speakers. At some point, we Seamlessed sushi to the bar like psychopaths (because it's never a bad time to treat yourself) and my night ended in an apartment dancing to Blondie in my underwear. I don't know how, but The Bad Old Days turned my bad old day into a good one.