Is the Boot Too Lax On Age Restrictions?
By Versace McClendon
We recently talked to an undergrad at America's #1 college bar who seemed suspiciously like an actual baby
It was a long walk to the Boot. I had to plow through a river of puke, half-smoked cigarettes, and canoodling couples just to make it the front door. I flashed the bouncer my I.D., moseyed over to an empty seat at the bar and waited for my interviewee to arrive. I was on my way to investigate certain allegations concerning the university bar. If the reports were to be believed, the Boot was involved in a juicy and perverted scandal: under-age drinking. I had set up an interview with Baby-Face Johnson, a regular at the bar. If anybody had answers to my questions, this would be the guy.
He showed up at about half past 9. He was much smaller than I expected, but there was no doubt as to where he got his nickname. The man had those rosy-red, chubby cheeks that are just asking to be squeezed.
“Sowwy I’m late. I was sucking a nipple.” He said. This must be a taste of Tulane’s notorious hook-up culture, I thought to myself.
“No problem, Baby-Face. It’s a pleasure to be able to sit down with you. How’s it going tonight?” I replied.
“My favor-wit color is owange” he stated matter-of-factly. Evidently, the Boot wasn’t the first stop on his pub-crawl; the man was already talking gibberish and slurring his words. In fact, he was so inebriated that he had to get on all fours to get around. (I’d heard Baby-Face had a reputation of being a bit of an enfant terrible, and I was beginning to understand why.)
He broke the still silence by reaching for his sippy cup on the table. Although, due to his incredibly short arms, he wasn’t quite able to grab it.
“I want my wa-wa” he whined.
“Oh this?” I pointed to the contents of the cup, which looked like a White Russian. “What exactly is in this cup?”
“Mommy says it helps me sweep at night in my crib” he replied, taking a long swig from the cup.
I knew crib was slang for his home. However, I was curious as to why he felt the need to bring up his mother.
“And where do you work, Mr. Baby-Face?” I asked.
“I think what you mean to say is pre-school. And how old are you exactly?”
Before he had a chance to answer, he burped up a mouthful of pre-mashed peas into my lap. Not only was this gross, but also entirely unprofessional. I was dumbfounded as to how the man was able to score a teaching gig when he evidently wasn’t capable of properly pronouncing his own place of work. It’s pre-school, not pee-school, right?
Nevertheless, my mood had been soured by such a display of drunken debauchery. I couldn’t stand one more minute of this investigation. Yet, as I left, I couldn’t escape this nagging notion that I had missed some key element in our interview that would’ve put this investigation to rest. Something afoul was transpiring. I knew I was hot on its trail, but I just couldn’t put my finger on what it was.
And so the mystery for whether The Boot is illegally serving drinks lives on, perhaps never to be solved. But if you would like to try to find answers for yourself, pay a visit to the bar on any given night and maybe you can draw a conclusion of your own. Just make sure you’re at least 21.