"And a double bourbon for the guy in the dirty shirt."
A few years ago, an email went around with the subject, “You Know You Live in Chapel Hill When.” It was mostly aimed at the Weaver Street Market/Wellspring/Honda-driving post-hippie crowd, so I created another one for my people.
You know you live in the other Chapel Hill when:
Some of your friends are trying to find a nice little two bedroom house for under $200,000 and others are trying to find a room for under $200 a month.
You know people who drive metallic blue Honda Civics with "Love Your Mother" bumper stickers, but you also know people who will probably never be able to buy a car.
You've spent as much money buying drinks for musicians as other people spent on their higher education.
Vis-Art is considered "too commercial."
You know five people in town who at one point "left Chapel Hill for good."
You go to a seminar at the Women's Center in the afternoon, and then watch a woman take off her clothes in the go-go cage at Sleazefest that night.
Sleazefest is considered "too commercial."
You no longer have the capacity to be amazed when an intelligent, attractive woman starts dating an unemployed alcoholic musician who sleeps in his clothes.
You leave Hell at midnight because the crowd is getting "too fratty."
Choosing whether or not to wear a ball cap carries deep sociological implications.
You've helped a 30 year-old write a freshman English paper.
You never saw Ben Folds Five, and never will.
You’ve hung out, hooked up, had boyfriends and/or girlfriends, but you’ve never been on “a date.”
You've had to breathe through your mouth while talking to someone in a social situation.
Introducing people is seen as some kind of quaint Old World custom, like tipping your hat to a lady on the street.
You've turned around to yell at someone for pissing in the sink, only to find it's the owner of the bar.
You've wanted to punch someone for something they said on alt.music.chapel-hill.
You have punched someone for something they said on alt.music.chapel-hill.
You leave work early on a beautiful spring day and go to The Cave.
Built to Spill is considered "too commercial."
Even if you don't do coke, you know who to buy it from.
You're sitting at the bar next to a lawyer, a dishwasher, a computer programmer and an unemployable paranoid schizophrenic who all look, talk, act and dress the same.
You've been to more wedding receptions at Local 506 than in hotels.
You hear a song on the car radio and look out the window to see the person who wrote it taking the garbage out of the restaurant where he works.
If your job is in something other than the food service or music industry, people just say you "work with computers."
You've run from the Cradle to make last call at Henry's (or Fats).
You know that people meet and become couples, but you’ve never actually seen it happen.
You’ve discussed the artistic merit of the kung fu cinematic genre with more than three people.
You'll wear a pair of black wingtips with anything, including a tank top and shorts.
You know people’s sexual history, preferences and genital piercings, but not their last names.