How To: Drink in Public with Style

How To: Drink in Public with Style

Style really isn’t a word that I associate with myself. I know some of you may find that hard to believe, considering my style, in terms of fashion, is impeccable:

Pants from Goodwill cut into shorts? Check.
4 year old t-shirts with the worst pit stains you’ve ever seen in your entire life? Double check.


But when it comes to my favorite pastime of drinking in public, I consider myself pretty goddamn elegant. And with fall, unarguably the best season, right around the corner, it’s high time you take your alcoholism to the streets to enjoy it. Follow along as I pass on some skills I’ve learned over the years-gone-by to you, because I like you.

First of all, if you’re not drinking a 40, drop that paper bag shit, you fucking hobo. Get some self-worth; you’re better than that. What’s more, unless you’re trying to score more heroin, you just got fired or you’re tucking yourself into bed under the overpass, 40s aren’t a classy public drinking vessel to begin with. So, for now, we’re ditching the idea of drinking 40s in public entirely and focusing instead on my personal favorite: The Tallboy.

Tallboys are cans that range from 16 to 24 (or 25, thanks for that extra ounce, InBev) beautiful ounces, and can typically be found at any gas station or liquor store with a group discount for purchasing 3 or 4 of them. For instance, the liquor store down the street sells me 4 Milwaukee’s Beasts for five dollars out-the-door. That’s 96 fucking ounces of pure blunderbuss-shit-inducing fun-juice for just 50 dimes. Frugal and chic.

Now, nothing says “I’m a classless, pathetic asshole” like getting arrested at 1:30 in the afternoon for open intox in the park, so the next step is to not get arrested whilst piss-assed drunk at 1:30 in the afternoon at the park. Although, I must admit that I see nothing wrong with the aforementioned activity, but society at large frowns upon it. Apparently we live in Puritanical New England circa 1692. There are many injustices in this country, but none more grave or disgusting than the prohibition of drinking alcohol in public. What the fuck? What country is this anyway, North Korea? There are, however, some vestiges of hope and freedom peppered across America, but they lay few and far between. Regardless, viva la New Orleans, Las Vegas, and Butte, Montana, just to name a few.

The first method, and arguably the easiest, of avoiding jail time for JUST HAVING FUN, involves going to your local fast food joint and ordering the biggest goddamned beverage you can find on the menu. At this point, you can drink all of its contents or water the flowers with it, but either way, save some of the ice. Next, remove the lid and straw and insert an opened tall boy into the cup, seating it in the bed of ice that remains at the bottom. This will keep the can cool, and serve to keep the can from moving around too much inside of the cup. With the tall boy in an upright and stable position, replace the lid and straw, ensuring the straw goes into the can opening for easy administration of delicious beer to your beer hole. Now you’re ready to walk about town without your liberties literally being ripped out of your hands by a bunch of fascists. Yes, drinking beer from a straw kind of blows, but not nearly as badly as having your dreams stomped on right in front of your face.


If you are really as prissy as to refuse beer out of a straw, I respect that, so I’ll share another method to help you live life on your own terms. This method will require a bit more work, so get ready to get your hands bloody, because you’ll be ribboning them to shit trying to cut apart empty cans. First, find a can of non-alcoholic nonsense that is approximately the same size as your tallboy. I’ve found a lot of energy drinks will suit the needs of the 16oz’r and those huge cans of tea will work for 24oz’rs. There are some 24oz cans of energy drinks, and if you can find one that will work with your beer, use that. I’ve found that there are few drunk ideas better than getting totally fucking amped before cutting up and working with razor sharp aluminum. After you’ve slammed your can of liquid speed, wash it out and grab a box cutter. The sharper and more dangerous, the better. Begin by ever-so-delicately cutting across the top, vertically down the side of the can from top to bottom, and then across the diameter of the bottom of the can. Now you have an aluminum beer sleeve! Yeah, you’ll have to remove some tabs and it won’t fit perfectly, but – fuck it – it’s good enough to start drinking away the anguish of having forever disfigured appendages. If you have a metal file, you can use this to dull some of the incredibly sharp edges that moments ago cut open your palms and fingers. The next step is dressing your wounds, and then getting pissed watching the sunset in the park without being harassed.

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As a less life altering alternative to the previous method, you could buy a bottle of Perrier Sparkling Mineral Water, pour that shit into the toilet, because it’s gross, and then with a steady hand, pour a beer or two into the empty bottle. Nothing looks more stylish or classy than drinking out of a Perrier bottle. Bonus points if you tell people you’re impressed with yourself at how well your tennis game has improved over the summer, but you’re already excited to return to your other house in Aspen this winter to hit the slopes.


There are plenty of ways to enjoy your beer in public, and those ways say a lot about who you are. This way, you can feel confident going forward that you are armed with the knowledge and mastery to enjoy – really fucking enjoy – the time you spend out in public this Fall without some jackoff bike cop pissing all over the flames of your freedom and telling you where you can and cannot enjoy being human, all while remaining incredibly stylish. Now get out there, make us proud and shit in a Prius, because you’re so drunk you think it’s bathroom stall.

Peter Guzinya
Written by Peter Guzinya

As a Grand Rapids, Michigan native, I’ve been spoiled by the brewing genius that culminates here and throughout the great beer state. Good beer from everywhere is something that is almost impossible to avoid around these parts – not that anyone would want to. That changes exactly dick about my standards, however. More often than not, you’ll still catch me drinking a Black Label at a shithole bar somewhere.

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