Is it possible to have all your drinks bought for you on a night out?
When you’re poor, it’s the only option
I’m Ciaran. I’m 19 and, like many students, was single on Valentine’s Day. Go me.
I decided that instead of wallowing all day like a pathetic mess, I would go out, get hysterically drunk and forget all my problems – sounds great, right? But, like the rest of us I am currently in my overdraft. Could I go out and only spend a tenner all night?
My answer: go gay clubbing, and get men to buy loads of drinks for me. How hard could it be? I gathered my hoes for the night, all incredibly keen to hit the gay bars.
We grabbed the 699 into town and marched straight into Cava. Even Victoria struggled to get us a drink in this straight bar, so I forked out a whole £1 to buy a mango tequila shot, to keep me going on the long walk to Stanley Street. Not a good start.
We hit up Pink next, and as soon as we walked in, we realised we might have a shot because there were so many old men around. There were a surprising amount of straight, as well as gay, middle aged men here and at first, my gaydar was way off as I kept attempting to chat up straight men.
Success soon followed though as I got speaking to a young Irish man in his mid 20s on a weekend away. I spotted him because his drink was nearly finished – prime target. He asked me to go the bar with him. Winner winner.
Now, what do I say? Should I go with the classic “I’ve lost my friends” or “I’ve been stood up on Valentine’s Day?” Or should I be an absolute dick and just ask straight up for a bevvy?
I was a dick.
“When are you buying me a drink?” I flirted. After smiling at him intensely and stroking his arm, he replied: “Fine then you jammy bastard. What do you want?”
Yaaaaaaaaaas I got a Budweiser.
The shame was beginning to set in. More alcohol was necessary. We sassily strutted into what can only be described as Liverpool’s gay answer to the Raz – Superstar Boudoir. I was twerking with an older woman on a hen night, then gay middle aged men and a drag queen before I wandered up to a fake tanned, fully made-up boy who was swaying side-to-side, obviously bladdered.
Unfortunately, I was a dick and took advantage of the poor guy by having a brief uninteresting chat about his work at Barclay’s Bank, pulling the poor bastard and then saying “when are you buying me a drink?”
Success again. Barclay’s man would fork out a whole Sambuca shot.
Despite the fact I come across like a complete and utter twat, I realised the direct method works incredibly well. Don’t beat around the bush. We managed to blag cheaper entry to Heaven as it was open until 7am, meaning we’d only forked out £3 so far.
Heaven was tricky because it was full of young, attractive men all in relationships or already pulled, so hen night women were the only option left. Unfortunately for me, no one was interested. Perhaps I look more like a twink than I originally thought.
Even the whole “I’ve lost my friends” sob-story didn’t work on the women and the one older gay man I spoke to. One woman said: “Well fucking find them then” during my anecdote. Thanks love.
It was 4am and a hard night of scrounging was coming to an end. Considering I only spent £3 so far, I was still a little bit pissed from a concoction of predrinks and scrounged drinks, so we thought it was best to go buy some chips and curry sauce and call it a night.
I tried to scrounge off people outside for money for chips but the angry Scousers saw right through me, and we got quite scared when some started threatening us. We took that as our cue to get out of there.
We blagged cheaper taxi fare back to Carnatic Halls and overall that night I spent £7.
During my mission I may have came across as an arsehole but it was genuinely the best and only strategy. It would be what I recommend when your overdraft is extended to the max but your FOMO is just too much to bare