Page 23 of Embody

Eight

Bellamy

“I DON’T THINKwe should go in,” I second-guess as we stand outside the bar.

“Why not?” Marshall, a classmate from last year and self-elected study partner this upcoming semester, asks.

“Because the intellectual level of our future generations is already declining rapidly. By walking into a place called “Rooster’s Nest,” which is neither an actual thing nor an overly clever play on words, we’re encouraging that everyone just accept stupidity.”

“Bellamy, we’re here for a Sociology assignment, not Political Science. Save all that fancy thinking for your paper.”

My point exactly. Nothing I said was political. We’re all so screwed—go ahead and wave goodbye to Social Security now, ‘cause it’s not looking good, people.

There—thatwas political.

“Let’s go,” Marshall grabs my hand and pulls me forward so the bouncer can check my I.D. and stamp my hand ‘under 21.’ And with that, we enter the supposednest of a rooster.

I’m in a seedy bar, under aged, on a weekend night. But in my defense, it’s for school. I’d protest the curriculum when classes start, but it didn’t technically say “must visit a bar.” The assignment is to dissect, examine and compare the similarities and differences of social interaction between men and women, ages 21-35, in five different settings: Formal, Structural, Free Social, Planned Social and Private.

I’d seen the course syllabus when I went to pick up my packet and decided to get a jump start on it while I still had some free time in my schedule to explore such settings. Now I’m rethinking the whole class.

I don’t know how I’m going to accomplish the “private” portion—again, words mean something—shout out the answer if you know what private means…but tonight, we’re covering Free Social.

That’s a bar, no brainer. And Marshall likes the band playing tonight. So when he invited me, I accepted.

“You want a drink?” he shouts over the house music after we’ve gotten ourselves a table.

I hold up my stamped hand and smile cheekily.

“That might as well say ‘drink up,’” he laughs. “I’ll go to the bar and order it, then bring it back. Simple,” he shrugs.

In my defense,again, the assignment did advise to adopt the mindset and social exceptions of your subject matter, so I’ll haveone. To lower my inhibitions…which is precisely why it’s easy to approach the opposite sex in a bar—lowered inhibitions.

Honestly, I could write this portion of the paper without ever leaving my couch, but observation is a part of the grade and a cheater I am not.

“Okay, I’ll have one drink,” I raise a single finger in case he didn’t hear me.

“Hell yeah! What do you want?”

I hitch a shoulder. “Surprise me.”

I get asked to dance twice while I wait for Marshall to return, politely declining both, but taking notes on their approach, exact verbiage and my best guess on their level of intoxication.

At this rate of research, I’ll be home in no time.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if there’s any of those in here,” an older man, covered in tattoos and having forgotten the shirt under his black leather vest, speaks into the microphone on stage. “I wanna thank ya’ll for coming out tonight. As you know, we’ve got the hottest new band in the area here,” he pauses while the crowd goes wild with whistles and ear-piercing screams. “And they tell me they’re ready to come out and rock the panties off every lady in the house! So watch your wives men, ‘cause I give you…Fahrenheit!”

All the lights go out and soon the slow beat of a drum starts to thump through the darkness. Then there’s a sudden flash and the stage comes alive in multi-color. Five guys, maybe a couple years older than me I’d guess, are in place and break into their first song.

“They’re kick ass, right?” Marshall yells, back with our drinks.

“Seem to be so far,” I also have to yell my reply before taking a sip of whatever it is he brought me. I cough, my eyes watering instantly, and yell again. “What is this?” I point at the glass of poison.

“Jack and Coke.”

Funny, I didn’t think I looked like a “whiskey girl.” Pina Colada maybe, when I’m at my friskiest…butJack?

In an attempt to fit in, I bob my head a little to the beat and rest the straw in my mouth, not actually consuming a drop. I have research to do, so I sit back and people watch—I’m not here just for the hell of it. However, my study partner seems to be, which is becoming very apparent as he tosses back two shots and leans over to tell me he’s going into the crowd.

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