Well, guys, today has been quite a day. But more on that later. I thought that, for this month's post, I might do another pub tale, since the last one seemed to go over so well. Join me, won't you?
You guys know me--I'm not a big trier-of-new-things--but when I heard about $5 pitchers and beer pong at a recently-opened bar in Redwood City, I couldn't resist. I made the decision to take the train; since I wouldn't know a single person there, I figured that commuting with others would be a way to avoid an awkward entrance. Basically, I had this vision of me, relegated to a corner, slowly sipping my warm Rolling Rock, while everyone else was laughing like old friends and reveling in how much more awesome they were than I. And all just because I had driven my car. Definitely didn't want that vision to become a reality.
So I caught the train. Actually, I was running super late, raced to the station, parked my car in a questionable area, hoped that I wouldn't have a ticket waiting for me when I got back, ran to the automated ticket dispenser, tried to pay with my credit card, had my credit card rejected (the reader was broken), tried to pay with cash, had my bills rejected, dug around my bag for exact change, finally got my ticket, and ran across the tracks with the safety gate horns blaring and seconds to spare. And then I caught the train.
It had been decided that we would all meet in the rear car. And by "it had been decided," I mean that other people had posted on the discussion board that this was where we were meeting, and I just assumed that I would run into them there. (This assumption will come back to bite me in the ass later, don't you worry.) But then I got on the train, and, surprise surprise, there was no one in the rear car. I had the organizer's phone number, but I was already so far out of my comfort zone by just making the decision to go to this event that I couldn't bring myself to call him. I ran through so many scenarios in my head. The best one being me wandering around the train aimlessly, looking like an idiot, asking anyone who seemed to be around my age if they were part of "the group," and then being secretly kidnapped by the CIA. (Okay, I wasn't really worried about being kidnapped by the CIA, but honestly, I spent the first ten minutes of the train ride weighing the pros and cons of a text; I'm constantly surprised by the fact that I occasionally manage to get over my near-crippling social anxiety enough to do anything but sit at home in my jammers.)
Needless to say, I spent the rest of the ride by myself. My only entertainment was listening to the lady in front of meeat slurp a nectarine and suck her teeth in an apparently vain attempt to remove stone fruit remnants from her pearly whites. The joys of public transit.
After what felt like hours--but was really more like 20 minutes--we finally arrived. Redwood City: the city of...redwoods?* I stepped out of the train into a balmy, early-October evening...and directly proceeded to walk in the wrong direction. You see, thinking that I would meet people on the train, I hadn't bothered to look up where this place actually was. Once I realized that things were not quite right, I stopped to get my bearings and noticed a young-ish gentleman who looked almost as lost as I did. "This guy," I thought to myself. "This guy is definitely going where I am going, and I'm going to follow him." And follow him I did! I actually managed to end up on the correct street somehow, at which point the guy and I went our separate ways. Guess he wasn't going where I was going after all.** I walked and walked, convinced that I was going to be murdered but trying to look super nonchalant about it; and then finally, like a message from above, I saw the London Underground sign peering out at me.
The pub is called The Underground, but I didn't really make the connection until I saw that sign. It was at that very moment that I knew: this was the pub for me. I walked up to find a couple of old-timey regulars sitting out front in their jaunty, plaid wool newsboy caps and cable-knit cardigans. Thinking about it now, that sounds a little too perfect and might all have been a figment of my imagination. Regardless, I felt right at home. The downstairs portion of the pub was deserted, but to my right was a staircase. I started to ascend, thinking that this was much much too easy, but when I got to the top of the stair, there they all were. In all their recent graduate glory. It actually felt a bit too much like a high-school dance for my liking. The girls were on one side, doing their makeup; the guys were on the other, punching each other in the arm for some unknown reason. And then there was me. Smack-dab in the middle. Instead of pulling my usual wallflower stunt, I got two jello shots and wedged my way into the guys' group. (I mean, makeup? Please.)
Thankfully, someone dragged me to a beer pong table, where I was introduced to my teammate. We'd own the table for the rest of the night, thanks, in part, to the fact that I was on fire at least once per game. Then it was time for flip cup, and despite one ignominious defeat, it was a lot of fun. I met people, made new friends, and the bartendress didn't even give me dirty looks when I switched to water! Who could ask for more?
I promised more on my eventful day, but honestly, this kind of took on a life of its own. Long story short, I may have shot myself in the foot re: the job hunt due to the sending-out of unopenable resumes, and I spent about an hour today thinking that someone had stolen my cell phone. They hadn't, but you know, it's the thought that counts.
So I caught the train. Actually, I was running super late, raced to the station, parked my car in a questionable area, hoped that I wouldn't have a ticket waiting for me when I got back, ran to the automated ticket dispenser, tried to pay with my credit card, had my credit card rejected (the reader was broken), tried to pay with cash, had my bills rejected, dug around my bag for exact change, finally got my ticket, and ran across the tracks with the safety gate horns blaring and seconds to spare. And then I caught the train.
It had been decided that we would all meet in the rear car. And by "it had been decided," I mean that other people had posted on the discussion board that this was where we were meeting, and I just assumed that I would run into them there. (This assumption will come back to bite me in the ass later, don't you worry.) But then I got on the train, and, surprise surprise, there was no one in the rear car. I had the organizer's phone number, but I was already so far out of my comfort zone by just making the decision to go to this event that I couldn't bring myself to call him. I ran through so many scenarios in my head. The best one being me wandering around the train aimlessly, looking like an idiot, asking anyone who seemed to be around my age if they were part of "the group," and then being secretly kidnapped by the CIA. (Okay, I wasn't really worried about being kidnapped by the CIA, but honestly, I spent the first ten minutes of the train ride weighing the pros and cons of a text; I'm constantly surprised by the fact that I occasionally manage to get over my near-crippling social anxiety enough to do anything but sit at home in my jammers.)
Needless to say, I spent the rest of the ride by myself. My only entertainment was listening to the lady in front of me
After what felt like hours--but was really more like 20 minutes--we finally arrived. Redwood City: the city of...redwoods?* I stepped out of the train into a balmy, early-October evening...and directly proceeded to walk in the wrong direction. You see, thinking that I would meet people on the train, I hadn't bothered to look up where this place actually was. Once I realized that things were not quite right, I stopped to get my bearings and noticed a young-ish gentleman who looked almost as lost as I did. "This guy," I thought to myself. "This guy is definitely going where I am going, and I'm going to follow him." And follow him I did! I actually managed to end up on the correct street somehow, at which point the guy and I went our separate ways. Guess he wasn't going where I was going after all.** I walked and walked, convinced that I was going to be murdered but trying to look super nonchalant about it; and then finally, like a message from above, I saw the London Underground sign peering out at me.
The pub is called The Underground, but I didn't really make the connection until I saw that sign. It was at that very moment that I knew: this was the pub for me. I walked up to find a couple of old-timey regulars sitting out front in their jaunty, plaid wool newsboy caps and cable-knit cardigans. Thinking about it now, that sounds a little too perfect and might all have been a figment of my imagination. Regardless, I felt right at home. The downstairs portion of the pub was deserted, but to my right was a staircase. I started to ascend, thinking that this was much much too easy, but when I got to the top of the stair, there they all were. In all their recent graduate glory. It actually felt a bit too much like a high-school dance for my liking. The girls were on one side, doing their makeup; the guys were on the other, punching each other in the arm for some unknown reason. And then there was me. Smack-dab in the middle. Instead of pulling my usual wallflower stunt, I got two jello shots and wedged my way into the guys' group. (I mean, makeup? Please.)
Thankfully, someone dragged me to a beer pong table, where I was introduced to my teammate. We'd own the table for the rest of the night, thanks, in part, to the fact that I was on fire at least once per game. Then it was time for flip cup, and despite one ignominious defeat, it was a lot of fun. I met people, made new friends, and the bartendress didn't even give me dirty looks when I switched to water! Who could ask for more?
I promised more on my eventful day, but honestly, this kind of took on a life of its own. Long story short, I may have shot myself in the foot re: the job hunt due to the sending-out of unopenable resumes, and I spent about an hour today thinking that someone had stolen my cell phone. They hadn't, but you know, it's the thought that counts.
*The city motto is actually "Climate Best By Government Test." Apparently, in the 1920s, the US and German governments started accumulating and analyzing meteorological data, determining that Redwood City was at the center of one of the world's best climates. You're welcome.
**Actually, he was. I saw him later that night at the pub and, after admitting to seeing him on the train, he confessed that it was a good idea I hadn't followed him, because he was lost for a solid half-hour. Yes...wouldn't that have been awkward. *shifty eyes*
