And guess what happens next? Well, I'll tell you what.
We see three teenage boys flying--and I mean FLYING--down a very steep downhill street on skateboards. They had the look down. The shaggy Bieber hair. The slouchy hats. The baggy jeans and backpacks.
But guess what was missing? You got it compadres. THE HELMETS. At 75 mph.
"Oh My God. Their MOTHERS!," my friend turned to me, cringing in horror. She has two maniac boys and I knew she was peering down a psychological wormhole into their future. I have one maniac boy and had precisely the same reaction.
Propelled by my protective instinct and emboldened by the effects of a French 75, I cupped my hands around my mouth and screamed at them to WEAR THEIR HELMETS! I almost followed it up with the classic Jewish mother line: "WHAT? YOU DON'T EVEN CALL YOUR MOTHER?!?!" but I resisted.
That was outside the first bar we went to.
By the time we got to the second, I quickly realized I was way too old and/or lame for a second bar.
My first clue was the singer in the bluegrass band at bar #2. This girl had those super short hipster girl bangs that you can only get away with if the rest of your style game is on point seriously ALL the fucking time. Like, you can't just wear Minion pajama pants and an Edward Jones t-shirt and look okay in super short bangs. EVER.
If I tried to rock super short bangs, I would look like someone with a traumatic brain injury who tried to give herself a haircut while doped up on quaaludes and watching Sixteen Candles at the same time.
Not a good look.
My second clue was that half the people in the bar were teachers. It was the last day of school, and (I can't imagine why this would be the case) ALL of them were out celebrating.
Hmm. If I had just finished wrangling 1,000 children for 10 months in an underfunded, underappreciated job that I worked ten zillion extra hours a week to kick ass at, I can't imagine I would need a drink afterwards.
So rather than let those teachers enjoy their achievement in peace, I did what I do best after two drinks: entrap them in a one-way conversation and tell them how great they are.
At least I didn't admonish any of them to wear a helmet or call their mothers, and so I can safely consider this night a smashing success.