Sometimes I'm not Grown-Up

Last night, I went out with two friends with whom I room mated in college, Scott and James. James and I play on a softball team together; Scott moved back to the greater Madison area 10 days ago.

If you’re at all familiar with the Madison bar scene, you know that Brothers on University Ave. has 10-cent wing night on Wednesdays. You also know that Wednesdays are packed at Brothers. Scott, the recent Madison transplant, assumed that Brothers wouldn’t be so crowded during the summer, as classes aren’t in session. James and I, who commonly go out after our Wednesday softball games, knew better.

We both tried to convince Scott to meet us at the Great Dane in Fitchburg (although probably more so myself); equidistant from our three houses, what the Great Dane lacks in 10-cent wings it more than makes up for in an absence of crowds and noise. He wouldn’t hear of it. This is a man who was on a mission to eat a lot of chicken and not pay for it, and if he had to put his foot down, then dammit his foot was coming down!

So we went to Brothers.

Brothers was packed.

Brothers was loud.

Brothers had a line for wings that took 90 minutes to get through.

While pissed-off James waited in line, pissed-off Tom went to find somewhere to sit down. Taking my bucket of High Life (which is also a special on Wednesdays), I dropped five of them before James and Scott eventually showed up with food after waiting in the Great America-esque line. The ONLY two consolations on the night were running into an old acquaintance from my St. Paul’s volunteer days, and Scott admitting that we should have gone somewhere else.

Why am I telling you this? Because there are a few instances of pride rearing its ugly head here, and without calling them out, they may re-rear.

First, after it was suggested that we change course and head to the Great Dane, Scott’s foot got put down; he was fighting – if only subtly - this suggestion. Second, instead of just playing along, I wanted to fight back on Scott’s foot getting put down; no way I’M going into that cesspool of blaring music (so that I can’t hear my friends) and packed crowds. Third, I wasn’t going to be happy with the night unless Scott at best apologized or at worst admitted we should have gone somewhere else (which, coincidentally, he did).

This probably should have been handled better on a number of fronts.

There needs to be some system in place whereby the outing choices of all involved are respected over time. Once in a while, we go to Brothers, another time Great Dane, another time some other choice.

There needs to be mutual receptivity to suggestions. This is all about merely keeping an open mind. Periodically, someone will suggest something that is not among the preferences for others. That’s ok.

No one needs to get a kick out of someone else admitting they’re wrong.

I don’t know what should floor me more: that three grown-up men don’t know how to do this, or that these really stupid petty disagreements – that in the end are nothing at all – own such a large share of our collective emotional energy. Shame.