It’s ladies night, and like Amazonian dick fish, the group of 10s follow the stream of happy hour piss until they invasively enter the bar you’re trying to enjoy. Once they’re in they aren’t leaving until they are cut off and needless to say the experience becomes exponentially more unpleasant.
These loud and clumsy hunters are after one thing only: espresso martinis. Of course, this isn’t how they pronounce it. Oh no, to a screeching gaggle of hags it’s “expresso martini”. A phrase that been known to induce episodes of PTSD in bartenders.
Why expresso? Firstly, you can scream an “ex” noise much louder than the more subtle “es” noise. Secondly, it’s unlikely a person whose idea of a coffee is a Gloria Jean’s chai iced latte on their way to a Dotti clearance sale has ever come across the correct spelling of the word.
Butchering the Italian language aside, the espresso martini drinker also has little regard for the etiquette of the Australian bar scene. As an espresso martini drinker, you are duty-bound to disregard the line at the bar and begin to make a fucking dick of yourself towards the bar staff.
If loudly wailing that it’s your biiiiiirthhhhdayyyyyyy doesn’t get you a free drink then how about you transparently flirt with the bartender. Oh yeah, make him think he’s going to get his schlong slobbered on for the sake of a $13 drink. You classy minx. In the event he turns down the opportunity to get a cherry lip gloss flavoured herpes outbreak, then throw a tantrum like the entitled drunk you are.
After holding up the line for 15minutes, you now have to brag on social media that you and your fellow 10s are practically in an episode of sex in the city. Even though the modest price tag has the event looking like more of a wank in a township. Snap story, boomerang and wooooo until everyone on your friend’s list has muted you.
Keep ordering cocktails until you’re sloppier than the business end of a kebab and dance around like flamingo with electrodes stuck to its wings. When you are escorted out by a bouncer, you should go off at him like an angry parent’s belt. Let them know they are on the expresso train to complaintsville. It is only then that you have reached your full potential as an oxygen bandit.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?