We were late. It was totally my fault, taking too long to, uh, put on mascara and shit (shut up). We got to Dayo during the last 4 minutes of my roommate’s band’s gig, hence the four minutes of this video which I took with my camcorder.
I think I was the oldest person there. No, correction, Miyo, Lanie and I thought we were the oldest people there. When Miyo came back from the bar with a bucket of Red Horse beers instead of San Miguel, he explained, “They don’t have San Miguel.” Apparently, even the way the bartender said it made it seem uncool to even think of ordering San Miguel. Great, I thought. If there ever was a beer that hated me, it was Red Horse. The first and only time I ever had it was during someone’s birthday — obviously, if that was the only beer available, I couldn’t be rude and complain — and the next day, I had the most horrible hangover ever. And I didn’t even drink that much.
I looked around. Everyone had knapsacks, making me and my gold girly purse feel really out of place. They served us food without napkins. We didn’t bother to ask for any, for fear that we would be exposed for the uncool, napkin-using adults that we were and maybe even beaten up. Another thing we clearly couldn’t do: ask for proper tartar sauce for the calamares, instead of what looked like 10-year old mayonnaise.
So we drank our Red Horse, then as soon as we could, moved to a bar that served San Miguel. To be fair, I don’t think anyone would’ve beaten us up at Dayo. They would’ve pitied us because we were too old.
I wonder when the next gig’s gonna be. I need time to prepare to bring my own beer. Or at least go there already hammered. What can I say, I love my San Miguel.