This list was compiled and written by a Los Angeles based ex-bartender–myself. Everything is based strictly on my own real, behind the bar experiences. No matter how true these observations are, like most of my irreverent life choices, many people will disagree.
Most of those people who disagree will find their favorite drink on the list below. For everyone else, enjoy.
Screwdriver – The Julius of cocktails. Also know as the Vod-orange-ka (thank you Michael Scott), the screwdriver says two things about you–one–that your drinking has not progressed since sophomore year of high school (which you clearly missed out on or are just now taking part in) and two–that you will be the target of every 45 year old guy in the bar that does more work in the gym than he does in the office.
Who drinks: High school/College women with an affinity to pretending they’re drunker than they are attractive.
Cape Cod – Substituting the Julius of alcoholic beverages with its older sister doesn’t make you any more of a man or any less of a woman. Additionally, calling a Cape Cod a Vodka Cranberry in public renders your intemperance sub-sophomoric.
Who drinks: High school/College women who think cranberry is a leap from orange.
Fuzzy Navel – Not straight.
Who drinks: Non-heterosexuals. Includes homosexuals, transgenders, and occasionally Keanu Reeves.
White Zinfandel – White Zinfandelites beg for attention but don’t realize that, despite what they read in Teen People, bad attention is not good attention. The problem–no one under fifty respects a man sipping a glass of white zin, and if in the rare case you should swap glances with a cougar sipping on a glass of white zin herself, she knows you won’t be able to get it up when she decides not to drag you home to her cougar den.
Who drinks: Confused males.
Scooby Snacks – Malibu rum, Midori, creme de bananas, pineapple juice and whipped cream sounds about as masculine as you do ordering your frothy shot of diabetes.
Who drinks: A Finnish alcoholic named Ronin at a bar I once worked at. Hopefully no one else.
Anything with a huge chunk of pineapple and an umbrella – Don’t get me wrong, I like pineapple, but any drink that is packed with more fruits than Clay Aiken’s ass should not be ordered indoors.
Who drinks: Homer Simpson said it best — “gay guys and big, fat party animals.”
Scotch – As you sit solemnly in your study composing the final segment of your literary canon, by all means have a glass of Macallan–you deserve it. But if you’re that little chubby guy sitting at the bar wearing a sweater vest and scarf that thinks a glass of Cutty Sark straight from the well will fool Lindsay into believing you know what you’re talking about when you erroneously make a pompous reference to James Joyce’s greatest work—Babylon Revisited–go home, read some Fitzgerald, take off that sweater, and when you finally realize you went home alone not because she had too much baggage but because you had too much douchebaggage, give it another shot, two shots rather–of tequila–one for Lindsay and one for your sorry ass.
Who drinks: Most males in sweaters (especially wool turtlenecks) that aren’t already drinking cocktails with huge chunks of pineapple (some classy men can pull Scotch off at a bar, but most adhere to drinking scotch in their homes).
Jersey Turnpike – If you are, or drink any of the aforementioned, the Jersey Turnpike is retribution for displaying impudence toward traditional alcohol consumption protocol.
How it’s made: After mixing and spilling hundreds of drinks on their rubber spill mat, the bartender pours what remains from the mat into a shot glass for one lucky drunk. Whiskey, rum, tequila, vodka, wine, schnapps, bitters, dirt, a few dead flies–you name it, you drink it.
Who drinks Few do, everybody should.