Back to School, Back to School

We professional barflies don't need a calendar to know what time of year it is.  Like Native Americans reading the sun to tell time, we can use the environment to deduce the current month.  This weekend was obviously back-to-college weekend.  Here are the signs:

• Skanks on the train.  If I were a lady, I would avoid wearing skirts that barely cover my ass whilst taking public transportation to lessen the chance of catching a disease from the nasty ass seats.  Sunday certainly set a sales record for the morning after pill.
• Everybody gets carded.  During the summer, I can stroll right into most bars with naught but a nod in the bouncer's direction.  This time of year?  No dice.  I do not appreciate having to wait an extra thirty seconds to get a beer.
• Long ass lines to get into dumb places.  The Burren.  The Phoenix Landing.  Whatever the hell was next to the Miracle of Science.  These young shitheads don't know any better, and I'm not going to teach them.  Thankfully they seem to be afraid of Sligo Pub.
• Shitty seasonal brews.  Pumpkins belong on your front porch, not in my beer.