When I was twenty two and working as the venue technician at the Bathurst Theatre I was sent off one day to the local TAFE to do my Responsible Service of Alcohol. I don't remember why any more; possibly my boss felt it was important that, as the holder of a freshly minted Bachelor of Arts degree, I become acquainted with the work I was likely to be doing sporadically for the rest of my life. At any rate, I dutifully attended the six-hour long course and learned about things like how to deny drunks any more booze (point at the "No Service to Inebriates" sign, because then it's not your fault, it's the sign's fault. Drunks are pretty stupid), or the importance of checking I.D. (because you'll get a five thousand buck fine if you let that gaggle of bubble-headed seventeen-year-olds in your bar), or what combination of drinks will give you the worst hangovers (officially it makes no difference what you drink, but after having a few benders where I worked my way through the rainbow of booze from beer to red wine to cocktails to dark spirits, I humbly submit that that is utter bullshit), or even the fact that it is illegal to have any kind of promotions that encourage one to drink, like free giveaways, two-for-ones and so on (not that I think Australians really need much encouragement to drink. As my friend Daniel said one day after I complained about having a hangover, "Why were you drinking last night? Was the day spelled with a "Y" again?". Smartass).
Anyway, drinking culture is one of those things that I hadn't really considered could vary from country to country. What could be different? You go into a big noisy room with a bunch of strangers and drink alcohol until either you don't want any more, your money runs out, or verticality and coherent speech are distant memories. Well, quite a bit could be different actually. New York City is a pretty big place for such a small place. The drinking culture can vary dramatically with the difference of a few blocks. If I attempted to experience and describe the differences between them all then this wouldn't be a blog, it would be a Lonely Planet Boozing Book and I would be WAY more broke and hungover than I am at the moment. So instead, I will limit myself to the drinking culture of the neighbourhood with which I am best acquainted... my own charmingly decrepit Williamsburg. And at the risk of heresy on a number of levels, I think that Australia could learn a thing or to from the boozing habits of the local hipsters.
Here, bars are small. Bars are plentiful. Bars adorn every corner of my neighbourhood. For a bar to be so full you can't find a place to sit, or at least lean against a wall, is pretty odd. The result of this is that bars have the vibe of a cafe. And it is absolutely AWESOME. When was the last time you were in a cafe and two drunken knobs started beating the shit out of each other? Or some thoughtless jerk bumped your arm, knocking your coffee all over you and your friend, and couldn't give less of a shit? Or some vacuous bimbo absent-mindedly burnt a hole in your favourite jacket with her cigarette while telling some crap story about the bitches at her work at the top of her voice? Never, that's when. Bars here are civilized dens of intelligent conversation, good-natured humour, and attractive people with ironic moustaches.
Here, they check your ID even though you are clearly WAY over 21. Personally, this is flattering but also annoying, since my drivers license lives inside a little plastic pocket of my wallet that I suspect was designed by the people who make Chinese finger-traps. Here, they have daily specials on different kinds of booze, from $3 mimosas, to happy hours that extend generously beyond the traditional sixty minutes, to a free shot of Jameson with every can of PBR beer you buy (although I wouldn't recommend that last one, not unless you enjoy exorcist-style vomiting). Microbreweries pepper the city, so here bars are full of obscure, delicious and awesomely named beers, such as my personal favourite, "Captain Lawrence's Seasonal Peculiar".
But perhaps the biggest point of difference for me is what I'd always thought inevitably happens when you combine good times with music, copious amounts of discount alcohol and a bunch of red-blooded boozey drunks in one place... the bar fight. I've been here since September last year, and up until last weekend I hadn't witnessed so much as a raised voice. New Yorkers, it seems, are much better at holding their booze than Australians. Then, last weekend, I finally saw what happens when a fight breaks out. No bouncer grabbing each trouble maker roughly by the arm and dragging them out the front to duke it out. They take a much more holistic approach. The ugly lights get slammed on. The music stops. Everyone in the room turns to look at the morons who have decided to ruin everyone else's night by getting all macho. The bouncer goes "hey hey hey!". The aggressors let go of each other's shirt collars (which were identical. Perhaps that's why they were fighting). Things calm down. The lights go back down, the music goes on, and everyone goes back to discussing whether James Joyce's finest masterpiece was "Ulysses" or "Finnegan's Wake" over their boutique, exquisitely microbrewed beers.
So obviously the entirety of American Drinking Culture is not this civil (a la Jodi Foster in "The Accused" for example), but while I live in Williamsburg I'm cherishing going out to a bar and feeling like I'm at a party in someone's lounge room rather than a factory warehouse filled with lobotomized alcoholics. So much so that in my hazier moments I've toyed with the idea of trying to open my own bar back in Australia modeled on my local Brooklyn boozers. I reckon I'd make a mint. If nothing else I'd justify my old boss's investment in sending me off to get my RSA.
