I think we coined that phrase when speaking about Applebee’s and their legendary monthly drink deals. They practically give away alcohol. Totally bananas, but greatly appreciated. Applebee’s is definitely in the Top 3 when it comes to suburban chain restaurants serving sub-par food. They do their best, and sometimes throw a Hail Mary.
For example, this month they’re doing $1 Malibu DollarMamas. These drinks come to you with a completely unnatural (but delicious looking) color. The drink itself is a bunch of fruit-like liquids and rum. For $1, they could mix sugar, water, and rum and I’d be happy. They even put fake brains in this thing. Fuck yeah, sold. I’ll have 14. What’s the catch?
There is no fucking catch.
You might tell yourself, that’s cute, but when will I ever go to Applebee’s. You’ll go to Applebee’s when you least expect it, and I suggest drinking while there. About seven years ago while visiting a buddy at Purdue University in West Lafayette, IN, I got drunk at Applebee’s.
It was 11 AM on a beautiful, crisp, fall morning.
We had over-served ourselves the previous evening and woke up starving, still drunk, and wanting to ride the wave. Hair of the dog. We needed booze and food. We went to Applebee’s. We didn’t realize it was 9 AM. We had two hours to kill.
We found a liquor store and bought a 12-pack of Tecate. We parked at the Applebee’s, bright and early. The only car in the lot was us. We sat there by the curb anxiously waiting for the doors to open while we drank beer for breakfast like a couple of degenerates. It was way more fun than it sounds because you and I both know that hair-of-the-dog drunk puts you in an abnormally great mood. Day drinking at its absolute finest.
Finally, 11 AM rolls around. Like the gates of heaven opening, we entered, glossy-eyed. We half-jogged to the bar trying not to look too excited. A man wearing a sweatband around his forearm like an NFL wide receiver was bartending. He whipped his extra gelled head around.
“Hey fellas, what can I get for ya?”
His welcoming eyes looked as if he took a Monster Energy drink via an IV. We said two Bloody Marys extra vodka-y, not too bloody, spicy though. The bartender says, “You got it. By the way, my name is Chazz, let me know if you need anything else.”
Our bartender’s name at Applebee’s was Chazz.
This monumental moment could only happen at Applebee’s. We proceeded to drink our faces numb, watched college football, and ate some type of sandwich with fries to soak up the morning libations. Chazz said “fuckin’” a lot at the beginning of his sentences.
There’s a beauty to getting drunk at a chain restaurant. Chances are you don’t know anybody there, and will never see them again. The staff is usually nice. You’re surrounded by people your parents’ age, so they’re less likely to punch you in the face for no reason like you might find at your typical “sports bar.” You can comfortably go blind on $10-20. Getting fucked up at an Applebee’s isn’t just any drunk moment. It’s the difference between living, and living well (don’t drive or operate heavy machinery after).
Hell, you might even have Chazz slingin’ the best Bloody Mary this side of the Mississippi.