Drinking for Charity

The other night some friends invited me to a benefit event at a bar in the Born (Barcelona’s supposedly chic neighborhood where you’ll find choice restaurants like the Italian “Gente de Pasta” which roughly translates to “People with Dough.” Classy.), the purpose of which was ostensibly to raise funds for a school in India. My idea of a benefit event had always included aging socialites in stiff ball gowns, chandeliers, clinking champagne glasses and speeches. The only thing the imagined and actual event had in common was the drinking. The crowd was mostly young. Lots of skinny jeans and Converse, leggings and patent leather heels. A significant Italian contingent with gelled hair – as stiff as those ball gowns – and t-shirts with enormous lettering that didn’t spell anything, at least not anything in English or Italian. The specials that night were mojitos and caipirinhas. Everyone felt good about ordering cocktails, after all, half of the bar’s proceeds were going to help poor Indian children get a better education.

The children were also present, at least virtually. Giant images of them, big eyes and smiles, standing in front of colorful walls or playing on a dusty square or sitting in a simple classroom, were projected on the wall inside. Posters and flyers for the benefit event were pasted all over the bar. The staff wore t-shirts with the event’s logo. Outside on the terrace, my friends performed a fire show. A crowd gathered. We watched, mesmerized.

After the show ended, the staff started to usher us inside. Noise is a big issue in the Born, and every bar owner lives in constant fear of the all-powerful neighborhood lobby. A group resisted, holding on to their table, ordering another round of mojitos.

“It’s for charity!” someone said indignantly, “I’m only ordering this expensive crap, cause it’s for charity!”

A very drunk man stood on a chair and waved his arms about.

And it got me thinking. What is it that my generation is really good at?

Partying. It’s something we’ve cultivated with great care and dedication. We’ve elevated the party to an art form, turned it into a variety of careers (DJing, event management, the list is long and impressive), so wasn’t this a natural extension of what we do best? Drinking for charity? Partying for the poor around the world? Why not. Partying is something we do naturally and well. The only thing that starts to gnaw at us as we get older is an uncomfortable sense of guilt. That we’re not doing anything to make the world a better place. That we should quit partying and get our asses in gear and do something important. Something meaningful. Only many of us aren’t cut out for building wells in faraway, hot lands. So, why not turn the party into an act of solidarity? We get to have our drinks and feel good about it too!

Inside the bar, the gelled-up Italians were dancing madly to mid-90s dance hits. Behind them, the children smiled. A woman with enormous breasts in a tiny, black tank-top announced that it was time for the striptease. A man burst through the bathroom door and onto the dance floor. His black suit jacket and white shirt strained against a bulky mass of muscle. The crowd squealed, some in delight, some in embarrassment. The man danced with a couple of women in the front row, teasing them with a red rose, awkwardly pushing his large frame back and forth. The children were still smiling, their projected faces huge on the white wall, as the man wiggled out of his clothes.

I thought about the stiff ball gowns. The speeches and the black tie band. The champagne and caviar on toast. Who had thought a stripper was a good idea?

“What does it matter?” a friend asked, “If the children get their notebooks and pencils and desks – isn’t that the most important thing? They don’t care if some dude took his clothes off or a bunch of expats got really wasted.”

She’s probably right. The stiff ball gowns are also drinking for charity. It’s just a question of aesthetics…but sometimes aesthetics make all the difference in the world.

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