Zara Husaini
About six months ago, my life changed. No, I didn’t learn a new skill or experience an Earth-shattering epiphany. Actually, most of you have probably experienced this life-changing experience already – but you probably just referred to it as your 21st birthday.
I guess turning 21 meant so much to me because before this, most people thought I had a better chance of getting into a ball pit at Chuck E Cheese than a bar. I hover somewhere around five feet tall and have a face that can only be described as “child-like,” so you could probably say that I’ve had the following conversation too many times to count:
Generic boy from bar: Hey there.
Me: Umm…hi?
Generic bar boy: You come here often?
Me: I guess….?
Generic bar boy: Oh yeah? It’s my first time here.
Me: Sweet.
Generic bar boy: Yeah, we’re out celebrating my buddy’s eighteenth birthday.
Me: So…how old does that make you?
Generic bar boy: Seventeen.
Is it just me, or do any other girls out there feel like cougars every time they venture out into the world of nightlife? Of course, this probably bodes well for my male peers, who must have impeccable luck with the doe-eyed underage girls that seem to flock to the clubs, but for the purpose of this rant, that’s irrelevant. It seems as though at any given nightlife spot, half the crowd isn’t old enough to be buying cigarettes, let alone alcohol. Of course, the other half of the population is comprised of men in their fifties, which is equally disturbing. I have to wonder: what’s happened to the people for whom nightlife is intended? The people in their early twenties who are eagerly grasping their newfound freedom and privilege while simultaneously squeezing every last shred of irresponsibility and recklessness out of their beings before entering “the real world.”
I think there’s an answer to this question, and I think it’s the same answer that can be supplied for almost any question related to a sudden change in society – the dissolution of our economy. The only explanation I can fathom is that twenty-somethings are just too damn broke to enjoy the nightlife scene. Our juniors are still able to reap the benefits of college: the intoxicating freedom that comes with fleeing the nest, albeit with daddy’s credit card in hand. Of course I can’t say that every eighteen-year-old out there is still blissfully free of financial woes, nor can I claim that they burden every twenty-something. However, it does seem very likely that recent grads and college seniors are too busy either facing unemployment – or preparing to do so – to enjoy the luxuries of the night.
Image Source: theidshop.com
Similarly, the fifty-year-old men who seem to be everywhere are on the opposite end of the spectrum. They’re the ones who have cash to burn. Come on, I’m sure I’m not the only person who has noticed that every club comes complete with a middle-aged man who is all too happy to buy every pretty girl who shimmies past him a round of Patron shots. It seems as though they’re the kings of the nightlife scene these days, simply because they can afford to be.
It’s bad enough that teenagers and parents have taken Facebook away from me and the people in my age group. Did they really have to take the one other thing we hold sacred: our right to party?
I’m asking you nicely, dear recession. Please give us a break. I speak for twenty-somethings everywhere when I say that all we want to do after a long day of classes, work, or job-searching is dance away all our troubles, financial and otherwise, in the company of other legal partiers (and by legal, I mean between the ages of twenty-one and thirty.) Don’t force us to study ourselves into comas because we’re so desperate to impress would-be employers. Don’t dangle jobs that would allow us to afford a night out once in a while in our faces, only to rip them away mercilessly. Don’t make us worry that one measly bar tab will mean a week of starvation. Mostly, don’t allow the fake ID industry to become one of the most profitable in the country. You’ve taken enough from us, recession. Don’t deny us the right to celebrate the prime of lives on top of everything else.