Kill the Grille's Monopoly

It is ten o'clock on a Thursday night, and NBC's "Must See TV" has unfortunately come to a close. While at schools across the country, the weekend and its accompanying revelry is well underway, the oh-so-social Harvard student recklessly decides to venture out for the night to join his or her companions.

Thinking themselves to be quite the party animals, the members of the social Harvard community--a proud minority on our campus--gear up for what they hope will be an exciting night on the town. But where to go? There are a whole number of bars to choose from in Harvard Square, and for those not too lazy for a short trip, the greater Boston area offers a plethora of barhopping options.

Oh no, why would we possibly want to explore any other place when we have our own beloved jewel of a bar, the one and only overcrowded, pocket-emptying vomit-scented Grille?

The sad reality is that very few Harvard students actually consider checking out one of the other bars in the Square. To do so would be an act of disloyalty and betrayal to the very core of Harvard's social life, the centerpiece of all weekend plans. From the Quad, the Yard, the river houses, and the finals clubs, we all come to pay homage to the patron deity of our social world.

What exactly is the appeal of this place? How can it so successfully attract swarms of Harvard social butterflies? How does it time and again monopolize and monotonize our social agendas?

Let's cut to the chase. What the Grille has to offer its clientele is easy access. So long as you are over eight years old and are willing to wait on its long weekend lines, its doors are open to you. Most of us know full well by now, and for those first-year students who do not, the policeman who stands at the door next to the bouncer, Dave, is not going to cuff you and read you your rights.

As a junior in high school last year, my sister just smiled her way in, braces and all. Many boast about having earned admittance with a mere Harvard student ID, never mind that it reveals proof of their underage shame. During off-peak hours (and this is the majority of the week at a place like Harvard), students usually stroll right in without even being carded.

A second enticement to this collegiate haven is that for those without a discriminating taste for beer, those possessing an admirable tolerance for the watered down liquid on tap, a respectable college drunken stupor is a mere ten dollars away.

These arguably redeeming qualities make the Grille the classic college bar. Easy access and the ability to get drunk cheaply are its claims to fame, attracting hordes of Harvard men and women, and making the ambiance perfectly conducive to meeting an insignificant other and having a little insignificant fun. I mean, let's be honest: no one goes to make new friends.

While these attractions justify making the Grille a typical college bar, worthy of undergraduate attention and patronage, they fail to explain the dominating role the Grille enjoys in the lives of Harvard students. A close look at a typical Grille night really calls into question how it can reign so long as king of Harvard social spots, unchallenged by surrounding competitors.

Such a night usually begins with the frustrating realization that merely to step foot into this place requires at least a half hour of waiting time. Those new to this routine, who find September nights unpleasant for the wait, will probably find themselves resigned by mid-January to an account at Video Pros, a much warmer option.

Upon reaching the end of the line and presenting the New Jersey license, bearing more resemblance to Homer Simpson than to yourself, and more likely bearing his name than your own, you receive the requisite cursory glance from Dave and you're in.

If you are a first-year, although you hate to admit it, you are a little excited at having gotten in, and if you're a bit older, you are a little ashamed to be back, since on your last visit you probably told someone that you would never return.

The next step in the process is an obvious one: get yourself a drink. Please be warned, however. Unless your favorite beverage comes in a pitcher and has a persistent aftertaste, be prepared to spend more than you would like.

Also, you may want to wear a smock, for undoubtedly someone will spill on you. (Don't get annoyed, you'll do it to someone else later). Yet, it is precisely at this point that you realize how unpleasantly crowded it is and how you wish you had never come.

With drink in hand, you tell yourself not to panic and that you'll just make the best of it while you're there, but vow that it will definitely be a while before Dave sees you again.

Calming yourself, you consider your options:

You can go watch some others compete in T.V. trivia. Maybe someone will break a record for highest score tonight? You can watch Boise State Junior College compete against Southeast Louisiana Tech on ESPN 2. If you are a bit perverted, you can walk through the bathroom corridor and watch some of the guys read the sports pages while standing in front of the urinals.

If you are a music lover, you may want to fight your way through the crowds and try to find good standing room near the speakers, to hear the Grille's CD of the month. Don't be disappointed if you are unable to do so; you'll hear the same song again before the night is over.

As the night draws to a close, and your blood alcohol level rises, you find yourself strangely attracted to those you found less so, just two hours and ten beers earlier. If you're lucky maybe others are finding you a little more attractive too.

This article is not a "How to Pick up Someone in the Grille" handbook, and so I will leave the completion of the night to each's imagination. Maybe it works out, maybe not. In any event, there is always tomorrow night.

This being Harvard, the majority of us stumble back to our rooms with a possible detour to Noke's. We feel a sense of frustration and boredom at another wasted night (no pun intended) and are left with the overwhelming realization that the Grille is essentially, as one Harvard student put it, a "necessary evil."

Its necessity stems from the fact that it is where the majority of Harvard students socialize, and its evil lies in its domination, one which prevents the growth of diversity in our social lives.

The Grille is by no means a bar to be avoided entirely, but to be visited less frequently. It is an ideal sports bar to enjoy Sunday football and March Madness. With a good size crowd, but ample seating, food and beer, the Grille is equipped to provide a great atmosphere for avid sports fans.

It is not, however, able to satisfy the social curiosity and excitement of college students on an everyday basis. No one bar should handle such responsibility. Rather, in a more perfect world, this job would be divided among the several bars in Harvard Square.

If over the course of our typical three-day weekend. Thursday nights were spent at Shay's, Friday nights at Grendel's, and Saturday nights at the Grille, with an occasional night at John Harvard's or House of Blues, the result would translate into major degrees of improvement by introducing some variety in the lives of Harvard students.

By replacing the absolute monarchy of the Grille, with an aristocracy of which the Grille was merely one member, the monopoly would be abolished, and with it, the monopoly it has creat-