By Mara Minsberg
I have a confession to make: I am a Minnesotan. Whew, I said it. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, really, except for all of the inevitable Fargo impressions that usually greet that admission. There are only so many “Ya, ya betchas” and “Dontcha knows” one person can take.
That said, I did live in Dallas for a couple of years, so I give myself a few bonus points toward legitimate Texanness. My previous Texas-dwelling experience, however, has turned out to be insufficient preparation for the down home country traditions of College Station nightlife.
Previously prone to populating posh clubs and uptown bars on the weekends, I admit I don’t have a clue what a two-step is or any idea how to propel a dart in the general direction of a dartboard. Between my northern heritage and my brief time spent living in big-city Texas, I can tell I am in uncharted territory as I venture into the College Station bar scene.
I like to think of myself as an open-minded, non-judgmental person, but deep down I know that’s probably not entirely true. I try my best to be open to new experiences, but it can be tough for me to suppress those pesky preconceived notions. Heading out to Northgate for the first time, I am a bit apprehensive about how I will fit into the local scene.
The friendly, down-to-earth quality of Northgate is distinctly outside my weekend comfort zone—my initial instinct is to rush home, get very dressed up, woo an ornery doorman into letting my friends and I cut in line, and prepare my wallet for purging its hard-earned contents on cover charges and overpriced beverages. It may not be right, but it’s what I know.
The adventure was supposed to begin at College Station’s famed Dixie Chicken, but apparently its fame translated into an incredibly long wait time for a table. My friends and I opted instead for FitzWilly’s, an establishment they assured me would still fit the bill for local flavor. Its rustic look from the outside carried over to the indoor décor, complete with the mounted heads of deer, moose, and mountain goat. I normally don’t associate dismembered mountain goats with a wild night on the town, but in my new spirit of open-mindedness I decided I was willing to give it a try.
My group worked to slowly ease me in to the Northgate experience, starting with a pitcher of beer and some obligatory chicken-fried items served with a side of cream gravy. With our meal came the option to play dominoes while we ate, which turned out to be quite entertaining once we got a grasp on the rules. Relaxing a bit, I was surprised to find myself enjoying the more casual, laid-back experience.
We decided to branch out to the video game area, where for the first time in my bar-hopping life I aimed a big plastic hunting rifle toward frolicking creatures on a screen. I felt a little bad because I could tell these wildebeest never knew they had it coming, but the satisfaction of the kill more than made up for my vague feelings of guilt over shooting an animated bush-dwelling creature in the face. This particular version of Big Buck hunter was not completely authentic (it featured a safari theme) but I think I got the gist of the general simulated hunting experience.
Next up was a choice between darts and shuffleboard, and in attempt to save face from looking like my sunburned grandparents on a cruise ship I opted for darts. It was certainly more difficult than it looked, which I learned the hard way by almost maiming a friendly passerby or two. After a bit of practice, though, I found myself easing into the technique and having a thoroughly good time. Stepping outside my nightlife comfort zone, I was able to loosen up and revel in the sense of fun and good-natured competition without pricking a fellow bar patron in the eye with my pointy-tipped darts.
As I aimed my last dart with the overconfident intention at the bull’s-eye, the stereo blared a catchy country tune professing its singer to be a “Texan, through and through.” Though missing my mark by a long shot probably meant I wasn’t quite there yet myself, in these surroundings I couldn’t help thinking I might be on my way.