Are You On the List?

The other day I received an email invite to a bar promotion near Wrigley. I pride myself on these open bar opportunities, not because I'm a lush but because I'm cheap. Open bars, like all-you-can-cram-in-your-mouth buffets, are largely wasted on me. Most open bars tend to have stipulations like only beer or cheap well drinks. For someone with the discriminating palette of a finicky 15-year-old girl, I stay away from wasting brain cells on things that don't taste good. I am still holding out for an all-you-can drink amaretto sours night.

Nevertheless, the email flier said to print out the email and bring it to the bar. I'm a guest list kind of guy. A guest list has panache and cachet that a printed piece of paper just can't compete with. Essentially, it's a coupon for free admittance. While I am a firm believer in the power of coups, I don't like bringing them to clubs. Perhaps it's my own paranoia but I never thought coupons woo the ladies.

The issue of guest lists reminds me of their negative elements. Due to the burgeoning Greek life at Northwestern, some fraternities applied some lessons from econ class to create demand at their functions.
Eager to see what all the hullabaloo was associated with frats I ventured out one winter night with some dorm mates. The frat had a rotund fellow at the door equipped with, what else, a clipboard. My posse briskly walked up to the entrance where the bass beat was steaming out of the open front door. In a deep bass voice, he inquired "are you on the list?"

Stupefied, we stood there for a moment. We didn't know anyone in this frat. Meanwhile, the females in our congregation walked right in. Speaking quickly with chattering teeth we decided to hit up a different frat with more lax admittance policies.

At one point, I was hired to be a bouncer. I'll save that story for another post.

I, like most people, prefer to be on the list.