Collegiate Times

He said: Blacksburg bars offer big crowds and a sardine-like experience

Each time I walk through the door of Sharkey’s, I find myself in a children’s choose-your-own-adventure book.

As the bouncer contemplates my license, I survey the sardine-packed crowd, imagining what would be a fun, fictional next move.

Turn to this page if you’d like to morph into a 3-foot in diameter, 75-pound bowling ball that could scatter these already-tipsy pins like confetti so you can comfortably stroll up to your friends.

Or turn to this page if you want your legs to telescope like Inspector Gadget so you can walk above the masses, though your crotch will likely crack numerous heads along the way.

Apparently the author of my adventure book is a sadist; both options would yield harmful endings. After its strike, the bowling ball would get beaten into the gutter. And long legs would suffer angry uppercuts to the goodies.

Instead my hands get stamped, and I sigh alongside other brave souls as we approach the current of bodies mashed into a space that amounts to a hallway.

A trek to the building’s rear takes approximately three minutes, which feels like an eon. You try to will yourself into a non-human form: a slithering noodle that dives through every crevice or an amoeba swimming around waists and over shoulders. But you always find your progress halted by a boisterous “OMG!” embrace-and-dance or an opposing line of violent travelers desperate for fresh air (or a burrito across the street).

Ideally your pals already claimed a couple tables or a booth, otherwise your upright kumbaya becomes one of the very circulation obstacles you scorned moments prior. Every conversation is segmented by sideswipe collisions, your back serving as a moon bounce for stumbling passersby. If only we could measure how many fluid ounces of booze miss mouths but land on others’ clothes and the floor on a given night — some could wring out their T-shirt and get a buzz.

And Sharkey’s isn’t the only downtown venue with tight quarters. Many of the prominent spots aren’t meant for leg room, and I suppose that’s the very spirit of bar culture. You’re often pancaked close enough to pick up questionable details.

“Your fruity shampoo smells fantastic — and I bet that chicken parmesan was delicious.”

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A version of this article appeared in the Apr 23 issue of the Collegiate Times.