High School Confidential

We’ve recently decided that more people should have house parties. We had this epiphany a couple of Saturdays ago, when we were hanging out at our friend’s house in Prairie Village after the Goodswill Games (“Breakers 10-4,” August 14). We heard the unmistakable sounds of a party going on across the street so, in a drunken state, we decided to crash it. But we discovered that the noise was deceptive, and that the party was really on the next street over. So we went through a couple of yards, scaled three fences (well, actually, we had to be carried over, because of clothing restraints and impractical shoes), and even crossed one of those dry moats that are so prevalent in PV. After making our grand entrance by clambering over the last fence into the yard, we recognized some of the guests, and then had the sad realization that the party we thought we were so cool for crashing was one we had already been invited to. Nevertheless, it was a great time, because it’s been awhile since we’d been to a house party — the PV cops even made an appearance, which made the whole experience complete. It was so high school it was high school.

The reason we bring up this antic is not only because we’re still giggling about it, but also because our recent outing to import night at Charlie Hooper’s Brookside Bar & Grille was reminiscent of a PV house party (minus the cops). “I don’t know whether I’m in college … or in Johnson County,” was Research Assistant Scott’s first impression, and indeed it was a youngish, preplicious crowd that had been lured out by the 145 foreign beers on special for $2 to $3 starting at 5 p.m. every Wednesday.

Because we’ve been such an advocate lately for social-circle expansion — and because this was a centrally located meeting spot — we gathered a group of RAs from various urban tribes and were pleased to see that everyone played well together. We were also pleased to snag one of the tables on the back deck, where the tall wooden fence blocked the view of the parking lot, also reminding us of someone’s backyard. It was a gorgeous night, balmy and clear, and there was nothing better than sitting outside with friends and drinking beer. We stuck to Harp, though we mixed it up with Corona, which was the import of choice among our party.

It’s also the beer of choice with the Wednesday-night crowd, said manager Zach Boulware. “Everyone knows it,” was his explanation. “We don’t have people really branch out and try different products.”

After spending some time on the deck, we went inside to find some members of our party who were hanging out by the bar, checking out the scene and keeping an eye on ESPN. It was very sardinelike inside, but we spotted RA Kevin (who wanted to be known as K-Rock). “Every girl here is ready for a chili dog,” was his take. We didn’t know what he meant. “It’s a guy thing,” he added, then spoke in more cryptic guy tongue: “FUPA is prevalent here.” He decoded the acronym for us: fat upper pussy area. Egad. “There are a lot of fucking guys here,” pronounced K-Rock. “This is the definition of a sausage fest.”

It wasn’t just the testosterone that had motivated a group of guys to start some shit the previous week. According to a regular who wanted to remain anonymous, “twenty cokeheads” from Liberty were staring his friends down, nostrils a-sniffin’ the entire time. One of the cokeheads broke the ice by saying, “Did you just call me a cock?” even though no words had been exchanged. He followed up with, “If you (pointing to one guy), you (pointing to another), or you say anything, I’ll kick your ass.” The regular emphasized that this was an isolated incident, though. When we recounted the tale to our party, we so enjoyed the “If you, you …” line that we decided to incorporate it into daily use.

Comical cokehead story aside, we ran into more Wednesday-night regulars who obviously were fans of the beer prices, as well as other factors. “It’s not a snobby crowd,” said Kyle, 23.

“It’s our favorite bar,” added his friend Pat, 24. “It’s laid-back, not too crowded. And there are multiple routes you can take home to avoid the checkpoints. A lot of younger people who just graduated from college come here.” He also alerted us to an alleged makeout corner, which is formed when the accordion partition closes off the back room. He told us he was making use of it once when a member of the staff interrupted him by saying, “Excuse me, sir, this is not your personal makeout room.”

Wow. Makeout room, cheap beer and quasi house-party atmosphere? That’s so cool, it’s cool.