Pour Me Another

Here are today’s Wonderful Words:

I also noticed that everyone in the place had his or her own unique way of asking for a drink…One man would ask for a refill by merely flicking his eyes at his empty glass, as if checking the speedometer while driving down a highway.

The Tender Bar, J.R. Moehringer, page 199

Background

The Tender Bar is a memoir about Moehringer’s days growing from boy to man in the company—and under the questionable guidance—of his uncle and friends. This particular passage describes a scene at the bar where his uncle works. It’s the place where J.R. spends a lot of his time.

What makes it wonderful?

When I was fresh out of college, I went on a few golf trips with my friend, his dad, and all his dad’s buddies. They weren’t really golf trips. They were more like drinking trips with golf mixed in.

In the evenings, we’d sit around playing cards and talking shit. The dynamic reminded me of the scenes Moehringer describes in this book.

Each old guy had his own understanding of what it meant to be a man, and they would all share their opinions in not-so-subtle ways. Each young guy was still trying to figure out what it meant to be a man, so we clung to those lessons like churchgoers to the gospels.

Turns out it was mostly bullshit, but it wasn’t unusual. Most boys become men by watching the—often flawed—men around them. They learn the customs and rituals, and they reenact them until the actions become their own.

One of the rituals we learned was how to prevent a hangover. Each man had his philosophy on the topic, but the common wisdom was Jack Daniels and water. So that’s what I drank as a 21 year old trying to figure out my place in the world. Turns out I didn’t like it, and I still woke up feeling like I got hit by a bus.

Moehringer’s description of the bar and my experience on my golf trips have a couple things in common.

First, if you have a unique way of ordering a drink—a way the bartender understands—you’re probably spending too much time at the bar. Same goes for having a drink you swear prevents hangovers.

Second, many of the grown men you’ll find in America do have these weird tendencies. Ordering a drink with a flick of their gaze or drinking six Jack and waters rather than one drink they actually enjoy.

And that’s what connected me to Moehringer’s description of the bar. I felt like I was there because I have been there. Not that exact bar but plenty just like it.

Let's get technical

Moehringer shares the simplicity of this observation with a simile—a comparison between two things usually using the words “like” or “as”.

One man would ask for a refill by merely flicking his eyes at his empty glass, as if checking the speedometer while driving down a highway.

It’s a beautiful way to describe the action because it’s something we’ve all done.

If he stopped after the first half of the sentence, we’d be missing something. Most people don’t order a drink by flicking their eyes at their empty glass. It’s hard to picture. But we’ve all flicked our eyes from the road to the speedometer. So in comparing the foreign to the familiar, Moehringer makes us feel like we’re seeing the same thing he saw.

The best writing captures a unique moment and conveys it through a familiar frame. It makes the reader smile with understanding and nod in agreement. This is often as easy as making a quick comparison. Try it next time you sit down to write.

Happy writing,

Joe