Humans of the bar: The Corona Crusader
Semi-reviving my Humans of the Lodge series for the more season-appropriate summer iteration: Humans of the bar. This is a probably one-off series where I recount tales of interesting drunks and odd encounters I have while paying $12.50 for a Michelob Ultra and having several songs permanently ruined by the worst cover band of all-time.
Today’s tale comes to us from Dubliners Bar near Government Center. It was the night of Celtics-Mavericks Game 4 and the city was abuzz at the prospect of a close-out championship game. A few of my friends arrived three hours before tip to hold down a table. As it was my girlfriend’s birthday and she expects me to “have dinner with her” and “not be an inconsiderate sports-obsessed lunatic” all-the-time (not her words, just my own self-awareness), I was late to the bar and subsequently waited in line for 1.5 hours.
Quick side note here: I am the most impatient person in the world. As a general rule I won’t go to any bar if there’s a line. In this case, since there was a crew of my friends and family also waiting in line, I made an exception. However, that didn’t stop me from being the pissiest person on the face of the earth.
I spent the full 1.5 hours complaining about the large gathering of people in the back room who weren’t wearing any Celtics gear and didn’t seem to be paying attention to the game. They seemingly noticed my animated gestures and held up a phone that said “it’s a wedding party” and shrugged. This is without a doubt the trashiest wedding party I’ve ever seen. Like two people were dressed in what could pass as business casual. Everyone else was wearing a polo that was two sizes too big, a backwards hat, and cargo shorts like they just played 18 at the most poorly manicured Peabody golf course you’ve ever seen.
I like a pub as much as the next guy, but I shudder to even imagine the South Shore/Saugus/Lowell scumbags that hosted their fucking wedding party at Dubliners. If I had to guess, the bride likely works the phones at a local sub shop with a 2.5-star rating on Yelp. The groom is either a corrupt cop or an elementary school gym teacher who chain smokes cigs on the playground.
Actually speaking of cops, a literal squadron of Boston PD rolled in, dapped up the bouncer, and cut the entire line to just post up outside and hammer some corned beef and brews. Mere minutes later, some douche 22-year-old pulls up in an escalade and gets his entire 12-person entourage of mostly dudes into the bar in minutes, again cutting the whole line. We need to investigate that bouncer for corruption.
This is all neither here nor there, but I’m annoyed the wedding couple took up an entire room at a bar during a Celtics Finals game and I’m rooting against their marriage and against those who were able to cut the line.
Back to my main point: finally we get into this fucking bar and it is packed to the gills. At a psychological breaking point, I determine I need to just load up on drinks. I immediately order four drinks for myself, and two for my siblings. Hand up, forgot to order my girlfriend a birthday drink but did throw her my card to get whatever she wanted. This ended up being a crucial moment.
She orders drinks for herself and her roommate, as well as a beer for one of our friends at the table. The bartender, under enormous stress and seemingly close to killing himself, brought a Corona, a different beer than what my girlfriend had ordered. She corrects him and asks for the right beer, which he brings. However, we now have an extra Corona that’s kind of just up for grabs. Good problem to have, right?
We take our drinks out to the table and I begin imbibing my flight of four full-sized beverages.
By this point it’s the second half and the Celtics are down 36 points, so we’re all kind of just vibing. Time passes and everyone is loose and relaxed when all of a sudden, some random bro comes from all the way across the patio to our table.
This kid was clearly hammered and as preppy as they come. And I’m saying that as a kid who grew up upper middle class, literally attended a Prep school, and at one point only owned pastel shorts. Now in my experience, when a drunk, preppy stranger approaches you at a bar, one of three things are going to happen:
He’s going to dap you up and compliment something unique you’re wearing or make an incoherent, but friendly comment about something going on in the bar (dudes rock)
He’s going to misidentify you as someone he vaguely knows or tell you that you look exactly like his buddy then show you a picture of someone who’s not even the same race as you
He’s going to attempt to aggressively and poorly hit on a lady you’re with as you have to gently escort him back to from whence he came
This time however, he was 0 for 3. He instead came and said something I’ve never heard before and doubt I will again. In a slurred voice, he pointed at the extra Corona my girlfriend had mistakenly been given by the bartender, which now sat untouched in the middle of the table and said, “Excccuuusee me. We’re at a table over there and we’re missing a Corona — and that one looks exactly like the one I had. So did you steal it?”
Now I’ve done and said my share of stupid shit while drunk. I have NEVER looked a table of strangers and accused them of stealing my very generic beverage. We all said that it was indeed our Corona with my brother more bluntly adding, “No one stole your fucking beer bro” — but this man was undeterred in his quest for truth.
He confidently said, “Thattt one looks a lot like mine though, it had a lime in it too.”
Oh you don’t say, this Corona looked like every other Corona ever? Well stop the fucking presses.
I love that his smoking gun is a lime in the neck of the bottle. This dude definitely thinks he originated the lime in a Rona, as if that’s his signature drink he orders to woo young ingénues who have the distinct misfortune of sitting in his vicinity at a bar. “Hey Chuck, let me get a Corona — and you know what, throw a lime in there too, I’m feeling dangerous.”
My girlfriend kept the literal receipts and confirmed that she did indeed pay for it, despite not ordering it in the first place, to which he responded “Ok well that’sss good evidence right there.” Eventually our beleaguered booze bag departed, his tail between his legs, his Corona lost to the ages. Or more likely on the ground after he drunkenly knocked it over and then immediately forgot he did so.
Just a truly wild accusation from a very drunk moron.
Preppy guy, if you’re reading this and have any shred of memory of that night, please get in touch. I need to tell your side of the story. We’ll crack this case yet! And thank you so much for making that long wait in the bar line worth it. Only regret is not whispering to him as I left, “It WAS your Corona, bitch.”
