Bye Bye Liver: The Chicago Drinking Play

In early 2012 I made a silent promise to myself that I would celebrate my 25^th birthday in Chicago.  Thanks to a lot of great people in my life (and also some sheer dumb luck, I think), I made it happen.  To celebrate this achievement, in mid-September I convinced a handful of college buddies to accompany me to the above-mentioned event, the entertainment value of which Jessica had praised highly before.

You may be asking yourself why I would pay to attend a show with a title that so bluntly and ominously foreshadows vomiting, if not a stomach-pumping.  I will reply that there are similar events held out there in any city or college town anywhere in the nation, masquerading as fundraisers or Greek formals or tourist attractions.  This one just has the balls to let you know straight-out that a decent amount alcohol consumption is going to happen.

And I’ve learned the hard way:  if you’re going to get soused and risk throwing up in public, better to have a good excuse (your birthday) and be surrounded by people you know and trust.  They’re the only ones that’ll hold your hair out of your face while you  – oh, wait!  I don’t have to worry about that anymore because I let a crazy Mexican lady cut all my hair off!  Ha ha!

The Drinking Play originated here, but now there are versions performing in Boston, Milwaukee, Nashville, St. Louis, Philadelphia and Minneapolis/St. Paul.  The home of the Chicago Drinking Play is the appropriately-named Pub Theater, which is basically the upstairs room of a bar called “The Fizz” roundabout Roscoe Village.  The show itself turned out to be a fun, fast-moving mix of sketch comedy and audience-participation drinking games.

At the top of the show, one of the actors appeared onstage and declared himself “The Bartender” of the fictional bar in the set.

“When I do this – BAM! (he thrust his pelvis forward and the floodlights flashed) – that’s the cue for a social!  So let’s practice.  BAM!  Everybody drink!”  The four of us guzzled quickly from our pitcher of Orange Creamsicle cocktail.  This continued throughout the show between scenes and games.

All the sketches (as you probably guessed) were centered around bars and drinking, and included a “What She Heard vs. What He Heard vs. What Actually Happened” scenario when a guy and girl meet at the bar and go on to hook up; a scene where a couple with marital problems tries role-playing with a tamale guy; and my personal favorite:  “The Different (sometimes Demonic) Personalities a Woman Goes Through Depending on What Liquor She’s Drinking.”  The actress in that one knocked it so far out of the park, I can’t even begin to recreate how funny it was.

I suspected from the beginning that this type of event would attract Bachelor/Bachelorette parties and 21 year olds.  What I didn’t expect was how much brides- and grooms-to-be were heckled when their friends singled them out to play drinking games.

“All right, we need another volunteer!”

“Over here!  Over here! ” screams  (A: a pack of girls, pointing to the one wearing the veil/plastic tiara/headband with penises on springs OR (B:  a pack of bros, pointing to the one looking drunk and sheepish.

One of the actors strides into the crowd with a handheld microphone and talks to the bachelor/bachelorette, then cries into the mike:

“Hey, everybody, this is ______!  S/he’s getting married tomorrow!”  The partygoers cheer while the actors left onstage say things like:

“Aw, sh*t.  Sorry.”

“Another one bites the dust.”

“You stupid f**ker!”

“RUN while you still can!”

I started to feel old when all the birthday people chosen to play games were all 21.  But then the actress rushed over to our table.

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Megan!”

“And you’re 21, right?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Twenty-one?”  She nods and grins.

“No, 25!”

“HEY everybody! This is Megan and it’s her TWENTY-FIRST birthday too!”

Moral of the story:  if you want to lose 4 years, don’t try the latest wrinkle cream or fad diet.  Just go to the Chicago Drinking Play.

PS – I lost my portion of the drinking game (“Name that Tune”) and had to drink because I couldn’t recognize a Bob Dylan song in a certain number of notes given by the pianist.  During someone else’s turn, I managed to guess “Sweet Caroline” in only two notes, which probably means I’ve spent too much time in piano bars.