First Drink

Today I thought I'd write about that major milestone, the First Drink. It can be a terrible experience-what eighteen year old is prepared for the huge responsibility of buying a round of drinks? It starts out innocently enough, you and a merry band of well-wishers enter the pub, find a seat, and get chatting. A few minutes in, somebody will announce "I think it's time for the birthday boy/girl to get his/her first round in!". You feel confident. You feel, dare I say it, grown up. Then all of a sudden, the enormity of the situation hits you. People start shouting out complex orders. Some even want crisps. You don't ask them to repeat what they said however, because you are an adult now. Adults are supposed to be able to handle this sort of thing. So you approach the bar. You begin to sweat. As you reach the bar, and a barmaid smiles down at you, you realise you are doomed. You can't remember what you were supposed to order. Surely nobody's liver can handle a deadly cocktail of rum, vodka, and gin? Who goes to a pub to drink Coke, orange juice, and tonic water? Who EVER drinks Coke, orange juice, and tonic water in the same glass for that matter? Since when was 'a pint' a standard measurement of wine? Do they even make vinegar and onion crisps?


It is usually at this point that you begin to panic. You might even have some sort of breakdown. Who wants their eighteenth birthday to be remembered as the time they broke down in tears and ran screaming down the street? Eventually, you manage to garble out something that at least vaguely resembles the list you were sent to the bar with. Then comes the next challenge: getting the drinks back to the table. You have ordered the drinks, and The Rules of the Pub declare that you, and you alone, will carry them. You feel intimidated by more experienced pub-goers, carrying five pints around at once. Slowly and carefully, you pick up a glass in each hand. Now you are faced with a dilemma. Do you look forward, in the direction of travel, or behind you? Looking forward has it's obvious merits, but what if someone steals your drinks while you're looking forward? You'd better check behind you every few metres just in case. Looking around the room, attempting to identify drink-pinchers, you begin the first trip back to your table. Your friends have by now buggered off to play pool, leaving you to sit with the drinks. You are too afraid to leave them, your Mum's warned you about spikers. You've spent years wishing you were an adult, and now you take it all back. This is awful. You cannot even cope with going to the pub, how are you going to handle bills, and cleaning, and pension plans? Overloaded with information, your brain short-circuits. Everything fades to black.

First Drink