Is Your Drink Worth $50?

From all that I’ve read on the FIRE blogs, it seems I’m a bit of an outlier among bloggers in some areas. Dear Reader, if the first thought that came to mind was “Yeah, blogger guy. Most of them are bright, and you’re an idiot,” you would be correct.

But, alas, that’s not what this blog post is about. Instead, I’m talking about love for a good drink or five. Not, mind you in loving to drink liquids generally. That I like to do as much as the next blogger. Rather, in loving to drink alcohol.

Bye, bye boozie

As it’s turned out, my most prolific drinking days were before it was legal for me to drink alcohol in the first place a while back. Nowadays, I only very rarely partake of the booze, and I never, ever crave it. If all the alcohol in the world disappeared this very moment, all that’d elicit from me is a big yawn. And then maybe a wry smile.

That said, I don’t judge others when it comes to “responsible” drinking. You wanna take the edge off? Good for you. Get tipsy? Knock yourself out. Happy drunk? Ha! I hope a classic and funny story comes out of it. “Irresponsible” drinking — sloppy, mean, and such — however, I have no time for. None.

My alcohol antipathy mostly stems from the fact that: (1) booze doesn’t do a thing for me, (2) I think other people get way too irrationally exuberant about liquor, and (3) see e.g. my thoughts on irresponsible drinking.

These factors alone have been enough to turn me off from regularly buying alcohol. But even if they hadn’t been, the cost would have. Quality booze need not cost a ton, but it’s not nothing.

Alcohol served at a bar or restaurant is even more expensive on a per drink basis. So given that I don’t like alcohol much to begin with, I rarely order it when out somewhere. It therefore should come as no surprise that I don’t like subsidizing other people’s drinking alcohol. But that’s precisely what I found myself doing several years ago.

Quit your wining

The Missus likes her a cocktail/beer/cider/glass of wine. That said, she drinks pretty rarely and almost never has more than one drink at a meal. Two tops (and that’s very rare). When it’s just the two of us out to dinner, I shut my mouth and let her get genuine enjoyment from the booze that she so richly deserves for putting up with me. After all, just because it’s not for me doesn’t mean that it isn’t for her. See comments about not judging, above.

But sometimes we’d go out with friends. Friends who like a drink. Friends who like expensive drinks. Friends who like to order several expensive drinks.

Since probably my mid- to late-20s, my practice in paying for meals with friends has been to split the bill equally among the group. One time my and The Missus’ share might be a little less than others. Other times more. Left to my own devices, I’d probably pay just for myself and The Missus. But most of our friends like the split-equally method. It’s easy, for sure, and not at all worth it to me to protest.

But where booze and our drinker friends were involved it’s another story. A particular group of good friends we’d been dining out with for a while became foodies over the years. So the caliber of restaurants we visited went up. Having then long been a foodie myself, that was not a change that I altogether regretted. But just as the price tag for the food went up, so, too, did that for the booze.

As it turned out, some of our group would arrive at the restaurant before we did. They’d invariably order a drink at the bar. Maybe two if they arrived very early.

When it was time to be seated, they’d typically ask the bartender to have their tab added to the dinner bill. So by the time we sat down, there’d be a few drinks on the bill. During the meal itself, there’d invariably be several more added. And/or one or two bottles of wine to boot.

In the early days of going out with this group, The Missus might order a cocktail or have a glass of wine from the bottle purchased for the table. Once or twice I did the same.

The actual cost of alcohol consumed by The Missus might come to about $10 ($20 if I also partook). But, because the bill was being split equally, that one drink might end up costing us $50 or more. Sure, I could have said something to our friends. But for good or ill, I didn’t.

Poor, The Missus. She’d have to listen to me complaining the whole way home. She is a patient and forgiving soul, let me tell you.

Zero, some game

But then it dawned on me. Maybe the reason that it didn’t register with our friends that we drank very little and they very much was that The Missus was seen to be drinking at all. The number-of-drinks discrepancy probably never dawned on them.

So the next time we went out, I decided to conduct an experiment. Before we got to the restaurant, I asked The Missus to do me a huge favor and to not order any beverages. Neither alcoholic nor nonalcoholic. Nada.

My thinking was that if neither The Missus nor I were seen to be drinking at all, maybe that’d register with at least one of the group members. And then when the bill came, they might see how much was spent on booze, realize that The Missus and I were in no part responsible for that large expense, and then maybe section off the booze portion of the bill and have only the actual drinkers pay it.

My experiment worked exactly as I’d hoped. And so we paid an equal share of the food portion of the bill. But $0 for the booze portion. In fact, the group member who made the connection even realized that the portion of the tip that The Missus and I should pay also should be lowered. And given that our friends were pretty liberal on how much they lowered that expense for us, we probably even avoided paying any portion of the significant tax on the booze; a cost that they didn’t work out (nor would we have expected them too; that would have been too nit-picky even for me).

The next time we went out with these friends, I again asked The Missus not to order any drinks. Not even to get something from the bar and pay for it before being seated. I didn’t want our friends to see The Missus with a drink at all, even if it never appeared on the bill for the meal. The Missus protested at first, but ultimately realized that she’d have to hear me complaining all the way home relented.

My plan worked again.

Memory stick

We repeated this approach a few more times. And then I decided to do another experiment. I suggested to The Missus that if she wanted a cocktail or a glass of wine from the bottle that’d inevitably be ordered for the table to go ahead. But just one. And so The Missus had precisely one drink (which is probably all she’d have had anyway).

Would we end up paying $50 for that drink as we would have in the past? Or would our friends this time note the number-of-drinks discrepancy? As the bill came, I waited in anticipation to see what they’d do. Sure enough, one member of the group had grown so accustomed to us not drinking, and then sectioning off the drinks portion of the bill, that the discrepancy registered with her. And so we paid $10 for the $10 of drinks we consumed.

From that point on, we paid just for the booze we consumed at our dinners out with these friends. I did suggest to The Missus not to order more than one drink tho. I figured it might be pushing it to expect our friends to notice any difference if she had two drinks. I’m not sure if that was necessary, but seeing as we only paid for what we drank, I figured that it didn’t hurt.

And wouldn’t you know it, the mild annoyance I felt when going out with these friends disappeared. And The Missus didn’t have to hear me blather on and on about the bill.

And in the end . . .

Now you might be saying, “Hey, ungrateful blogger guy! The Missus didn’t get her so-richly-deserved drink for some of those meals!” And you would be right. And I feel bad about that. But for the record, I asked The Missus to go along with the plan. If she’d have said no, she’d have continued to have to hear me grumble on the trip home from these get-togethers I’d have respected that decision. But, bless her soul, she realized how ridiculous the amount we’d owe was and went along with the plan voluntarily.

Dear Reader, am I a killjoy? Yes. Maybe. But like I mentioned, I’ve never sworn off booze for myself, and I’m down with “responsible” drinking. And heck, if that drinking leads the drinker to speak some funny, but insightful gibberish, I’m all for it.