Mixed drink martial arts

Every morning, after I find my glasses and stumble out of bed, I open my blinds and admire the scenic vista outside my bedroom window: a liquor store parking lot.

This arrangement means two things.

First, it means my roommates and I can always tell you what the cheapest crappy beer option is on any given week.

Second, it means we get to watch aggressively drunk morons try to fight each other every weekend as they leave the nearby bars.

Let me give you a rundown of how these encounters usually go.

For publication purposes I’m omitting the foul language that makes up about 80 percent of all exchanges, but please feel free to use your imagination.

First, Drunk Bro A, normally accompanied by a small coed posse, will shout something incoherent but apparently offensive at Drunk Bro B and his entourage as they pass.

“WHADDIDYOU JUSSAY?!” slurs Drunk Bro B.

Then, for maybe a minute, each group will scream nonsense at the other until Drunk Bros A and B approach each other. At this point, several things can happen.

Once in a while, someone involved, usually the girlfriend of Bro A or B, will have enough common sense to realize she really would rather not risk spending the night in jail wearing four-inch heels and pleads with her respective bro not to fight the other. The crisis is averted.

Usually, though, Bros A and B will start swinging wildly in the general direction of their opponent.

If I have learned one thing this year, it’s that drunk people are terrible at fighting.

It takes four or five punches before one of them realizes he’s still seven feet from the dude he’s trying to flatten.

Once that distance is closed, the fight can actually commence.

They rarely last very long, and the worst injuries I’ve seen beside bruised egos are a few black eyes.

The message of my column is pretty much this: stop fighting drunk in parking lots.

Or even better, just stop fighting. It’s time to grow up and stop thinking that every insult an inebriated idiot throws at you is a serious affront to your dignity.

Act like the educated, responsible adult you are, even if that adult is hiding behind 12 beers and a childish desire to look macho in front of your friends.

I’ve only seen one of these embarrassing sparring matches end with police, but I would argue that no matter what Bro A yelled, it’s not worth getting arrested.

I’m not going to pretend these confrontations aren’t fun to watch. But they really are ridiculous.

I dream of the day when I can peacefully appreciate that beautiful asphalt landscape outside my window.

­— sreddiga@indiana.edu