Recently I’ve been reading a lot of articles on how to order from a restaurant wine list like a pro, because I clearly will do anything to avoid doing any actual work at my place of work. But if there’s anything I’ve learned from reading these blatant and offensive lies articles, it’s that they literally know shit about ordering wine. Now, I’m no sommelier, but I do drink wine like it’s water frequently, so I know a thing or two about ordering a glass of it at a restaurant. I mean, is there a healthy dose of shame involved with my ordering process? Yes. But will you enjoy the best damn glass of wine you’ve ever had in your life? Honestly, it’s unclear. See, I think I have ESPN or something, because I can basically read minds when it comes to people’s wine orders. So, just for fun, here’s a look at what actually goes through your mind when you try to order wine at a restaurant like a pro someone who’s only there for the happy hour drink prices.
*finds spot right at bar* So blessed, so moved, so grateful. Can’t believe this is my life.
Okay, now what am I in the mood to drink? I don’t necessarily want to spend 2-3 hours in the fetal position, backwards, stalking my ex on Insta, and crying into my Easy Mac, so maybe I’ll just stick with white tonight? Or at least start with it. Yeah, that sounds v responsible.
Hmm is there a happy hour price listed anywhere or…?
Wait… is that the happy price? Are you fucking kidding me? TWELVE dollars for a glass of Pinot Grigio?
Were the grapes dipped in gold or something? Was it infused with the elixir of life? ‘Cause that’s the only way I’m paying for 12 fucking dollars of this shit.
This is the cheapest thing on the menu, isn’t it? This is what I get for moving the happy hour to Williamsburg. Fuck this hipster nonsense. I’m out of here. I don’t need this kind of negativity in my life rn.
Sighs. Bartender? Yes, I’ll have one glass you can just fuck me up rn.
That’s cute that the bartender wants to tell me about each wine on the menu. It’s like he doesn’t think I’m a human trash chute broke and will drink anything.
Anddd he’s still going. Okay, Kevin, I get the picture. There’s a lot of wine here. I was tipped off by the “wine bar” sign out front. You can stop with the monologue now.
Why is he asking me so many questions? What do I look for in a wine? High alcohol content. Obviously.
Whatever. At least he’s pretty.
Wait. Maybe all of these questions means he’s flirting with me??
Nope. This is purely about the wine list. Should not have made that pun about how I like my wine dark and full-bodied…
Ugh, I hate when they ask me to “sample” the wine. What am I supposed to say here? “Mmm, yes, this definitely tastes like 12 dollars I will never see again”? Don’t embarrass me like this, Kevin. I thought we had something here!
Fuck, I just dribbled this shit down my chin while I was sampling. See, THIS is why I don’t sample shit.
Lol, did he just ask me if he could interest me in a bottle? What, does he think I just came here to drink one glass and leave? I’m not a monster.
Wait this wine actually isn’t half bad. Is this what life on the other side of $8 looks life? I’m a changed woman. I’m never going back to my old ways, until I see the check.
Do I want another? On the one hand it’s expensive AF, but on the other hand I hate my job, apartment, and romantic prospects so… it’s a tough call.
Whatever. It’s Wednesday, I’ve made it through three consecutive days of work without wanting to jump into oncoming traffic. I deserve this. I’ve earned this. It’s time to drink so much wine that I’m filled with shame and regret when I look at myself in the mirror tomorrow treat myself.
