Out for Drinks

I don't go out for drinks. I don't drink, period. The phrase connotes more than it states. The subtext is a scenario where people loosen up and reveal secrets, fears, anger.
If it involves co-workers all sorts of problems occur. One may get tipsy and spout harsh words about the boss. Hit on someone who winds up suing for harassment. Make racist, sexist or homophobic remarks one doesn't even remember, except it was recorded on someone's phone.
No, I steer clear of that stuff. On the few occasions I find myself in a bar I order a seltzer or diet soda and get a look from the bartender like why are you taking up a stool, fool?

Wet Your Whistle

I have a bar in my place, but don't drink. As a former mail carrier I got bottles from customers during the holidays. I still have most of them, unopened. I do not understand the charm of getting drunk. Sure, vomiting burns calories, but what else is so attractive about getting blitzed?
At social events I sit in the corner waiting for others to get plastered. Then I tape what they say, things they'd never reveal while sober. I keep these tapes in a safe place for future use in case I need a favor. Or perhaps just to make my life easier I'll barter them.
Except now, with everyone writing memoirs, nothing is secret.
Wetting my whistle means seltzer or water. No headache, no sick stomach, no loss of memory. No, I'm not very popular. Sometimes I'll remove the cap off my bottles and sniff. I still don't get it. Drinking and smoking. When did that equal sophistication?