It's Lame to Be First

The single worst thing I have to deal with on a semi-regular basis is being first at the bar. You spend all day emailing your friends, making plans to meet at the bar, and foolishly agree on a time that you know no one is going to make.

"I'll be there at 7:00!" everyone agrees.

But you no they won't be there on time, so you leave as late as possible. Not so late that you're a complete ass, just late enough to make that 15 minute grace period before you're considered late. "I'll leave at 6:40," you tell yourself. 

You do this because you know it's way cooler to be the last guy to show up at the party. Everyone else has settled in. The conversation is just getting going. The waitress is already in full service mode. It's the social equivalent of a warm-up act.

You get off the train at 7:10, and start walking to the bar. You text your friends, "Got a table?" 

"Just left the office!" they reply.

Fuck.

Now you're going to be the first one there. And there is no worst feeling in the entire world than being first at the bar. 

First off, walking in looks completely different. When you walk in last, you have a confident stroll. You're like, "Hell yeah, I'm here. Where my people at?" When you walk in first, it's more like, "Gosh, this place is packed. The music sure is loud. I hope I can find a table. Man, I need one with 6 seats. WHY IS EVERYONE STARING AT ME?" 

So then you sit at this big empty table by yourself, fumbling through your phone. You're pretending to text your friends to hurry up, but you know not to bug them, so you just look through your phone's settings. Maybe check if the bar has free wi-fi.

Then the waitress comes up to you, and the stink of self-pity is overpowering. 

"Can I get you anything?" she asks.

"I have friends! They're coming!"

Awkward pause-

"Okay... Tell you what, I'll check back on you in a few. Okay?"

The next 15 minutes before anyone shows up are the longest of your life. Somehow, you managed to order a beer, which you take a sip from every 10 seconds in between looking up at distant TV. You're starting to sweat because you have to piss so badly but you can't leave the table. When a friend finally shows up, you greet them as excitedly as a puppy left home alone. The desperation is palpable.

"See! Here's one of them!" you exclaim to your waitress.

The only antidote to this pathetic display is to drink away the memory.

Or, you can do what I do: If I'm going to be early, I just stop at a McDonald's for some chicken nuggets.