Yeah, yeah, I know. Maybe your town has a couple bars, or maybe you live in New Orleans (in which case, please excuse my hubris), but Savannah has some fucking sweet liquor laws and a plethora of bars - all within walking distance of each other. And this part might make your little alcoholic mind-cave fill with jealousy, but this is why we (Savannahians? Savannahites? Savannahoans? Eh. Who gives a fuck.) love drinking here so much: city ordinance says that one may frolic about with a plastic container of your favorite poison (or mixture thereof) anywhere in the vicinity of downtown. HAH. I can walk around downtown, double-fisting beer while seeing the sites, and you can't. Neener. Neener. Neener.
Now that I have this partially explained so that you aren't entirely confused, I can say this: Because of Savannah's relaxed drinking laws, there are a metric shit-ton of people you run into during your bout of "Hey, let's go downtown and get so drunk we can't feel feelings!" on any given Friday or Saturday night. The crowd is pretty diverse, but there are five (that's how many fingers you have on one hand) main characters that inhabit the downtown drinking scene:
|Get yourself together, Stephanie. You're getting married tomorrow.|
The bachelorette party is a common occurrence in downtown Savannah. The group consists of a minimum of five women: The Bachelorette, The Cock-Blocker, The Hot Married One, The Ugly One, and That Girl That Hates Men for Some Fucked Up Reason.
The Bachelorette can be identified by observing what she is wearing, which usually consists of headgear made of crazy fiber optic lighting, rubber penises (or other phallic-shaped items), and a veil that has a tiara hot-glued to it. She reminds me of a twisted, fucked up version of the movie Tron, only with dicks and booze. The bachelorette is often totally hammered, walking around with various mixed drinks in her hand and she throws her imminent commitment to some mysterious dude by making out with other dudes and yelling at them to "Sign my ass with this marker! No really! Sign my ass!"
The Cock-Blocker is legendary. Imagine a more civilized version of the Amazon woman from Futurama with less of a snuu-snuu mentality. The Cock-Blocker has one job: to keep men away from the group of women. It doesn't matter if the other, single girls in the group want to get their own action, the Cock-Blocker is unrelenting in insisting that, "Tiffany, we're leaving now, quit talking to that guy." She means well, but it's too well. The Cock-Blocker just can't imagine why any girl would want to hook up in a bar and try to get laid (even though her sexual repression is about to explode and she'd be happy if some dude would just hit on her for a goddamned second).
The Hot Married One is the jaded individual of the group. She already had her bachelorette party years ago, and she's only here because her husband is out with the guys playing poker or fucking that woman who works in his office. She hates these things, but she loves them, because it comforts her that one of her friends will soon be living the sad, married life soon enough. And yes, she's hot. If it weren't for the Cock-Blocker, she probably would hook up with that guy that keeps asking her name and giving her the attention that her husband doesn't give her anymore.
The Ugly One is ugly and makes the other girls feel desired and attractive. She's not necessarily ugly, but to the others in the group, she's less attractive. There's math involved with this special choice. Women are shallow bitches, and when they want to go out dressed like skanks with penis wands, they want an "ugly" woman around to be contrasted against. This makes the probability of a hook up significantly higher than if they were all hot skanks.
That Girl Who Hates Men for Some Fucked Up Reason is considered the most harmless of the group. She doesn't need a Cock-Blocker, because she blocks the cock with her own ninja mouth skills. This girl can tell you exactly "what's wrong with being cursed with a penis" and "how fucking retarded men are." Here's the bonus: she never shuts the fuck up! Unfortunately, this girl's hatred for men (whatever the reason: a recent divorce, daddy issues, etc.) is merely an act to continuously give herself confirmation that men don't care about a girl's feelings, because the men downtown don't want to hear her bitch and moan the entire time. Way to go, Angry Girl, I guess no man is ever good enough (because you won't let them prove otherwise by not shutting the fuck up for a second).
This group wanders drunkenly around downtown, mainly staying in City Market. Drunk and horny, these scavengers of the night often run into the next group of people and usually find meaningless sex within this unity of the two.
|They all probably go to UGA.|
A broalition is derived from two words: "bro" and "coalition." Imagine a boy band, only with popped collars, shitty haircuts, fistfuls of beer, and replace the Latino/Italian-looking guy with a token black guy.
They're downtown for one reason: pussy. Relying on the book The Game, these retarded versions of a dude prowl the bars, in search of an easy lay and an easier name to remember.
Common pick-up lines include: "I go to UGA," "My dad is a lawyer and let me drive his Beemer here," "We have a limo full of hookers and Natty Light," and "You want to go to that dark alley and suck my dick?"
By the time Last Call rings throughout the city at 2:30AM, these douchebags are too wasted/stoned to stop the party, and they usually end up going to Uncle Harry's to end the night by crying about daddy issues to a stripper while she's giving him a lap dance. Often, there is at least one guy in the Broalition that fits into my next category:
|"Hurry up, dude! We've spotted booze and titties!"|
You need this information first: there are two Army bases near and in Savannah. There is a Marine base nearby in South Carolina.
It's not hard to spot a single military dude. He usually wears an Affliction t-shirt, has a tattoo of a bible verse on his arm, and his hair is cut just like the other guys in his group. Imagine Channing Tatum in a t-shirt covered in wings, fleur-de-lis, and a witty comment about pain or weakness. Add fancy man-jeans, New Balance tennis shoes, a striped dress shirt (unbuttoned and sleeves rolled half-way) over the Affliction shirt, and a swagger that resembles a man carrying two five-gallon buckets of pickles. Now multiply that one, single military dude by eight fucking thousand. Voila. You have just met half the population of Savannah.
|...get a fucking haircut for Cthulhu's sake.|
I cringe writing about this group. Hipsters have infested the Savannah area, mainly because SCAD breeds them. I'm convinced more each day that SCAD is a hipster farm with an art school front.
Hipster guys usually wear their little sister's jeans, a hoodie (even in this fucking heat), a t-shirt with the name of a band you've never heard before with a screen print of a cat wearing a pair of nerd glasses. Hipster girls usually wear day-glo cut-off jean shorts from the 90s, a t-shirt that got attacked by a pair of scissors (can substitute a bright tank top with a Ray Ban "Never Hide" ad on it), and nerd glasses. Nerd glasses all over the fucking place. Oh yeah, they also smoke Indian Spirit cigarettes or clove cigarettes.
Hipsters are usually found in dive bars, or that new bar on the corner of Congress and MLK, drinking PBR and talking about how revolutionary some new band is. This group is too cool for your company, because they think they're too cool for anything that's too "mainstream" (this part makes me giggle, because they all tweet and post their soundclouds on a fucking APPLE COMPUTER/IPOD/IPHONE). This group tends to stick to its own kind, but they often complain about bullshit issues and their drunken bicycling gets in the way of me getting my sober ass home.
|"I sold this many palm roses!"|
We've all met him. He's that homeless guy that wants to sell you a rose made with palm fronds and tell you about how he needs "whatever you have" to get home to Wisconsin where his wife/daughter/boy-lover is living. You often see him digging in the trash - which hurts my heart, seriously - and drinking the leftover booze left in those plastic cups everyone pitches at the end of the night.
The homeless guy doesn't want food or shelter. He wants your booze, cigarettes, and money. Most of the homeless people in Savannah are very kind and humble, but there are the "others." They pandhandle you by trying to sell you palm fronds twisted and braided to look like roses. They use psychological warfare to guilt you into giving them money by saying, "God Bless You" when you tell them you have none. Even worse, there are homeless people that just get angry at you for not carrying cash.
|Maybe if they carried these, they'd get more donations.|
As a bonus, I'm giving you a sixth person you'll meet downtown:
6. That Asshole with the Blog Who Makes Fun of People
Yep. For a short time, now, you might run into me downtown. Say hi; I might buy you a beer. Or not.