Moving to Boston has been a bitch.

I come from a place called St. Louis. It’s cheap. If you know your spots, you can drink for $1 a beer on just about any night of the week. The notion of spending $35 (just for the cover!) for a night’s entertainment is staggering—you wouldn’t dream of doing it more than once a month.

But here? Every week. Multiple times a week. $35 for a beach-themed party. $65 for a yacht party. And counting. (So far, I’m pretty sure the only reason that Harvard even bothered giving me a @hbs.edu email address was so that I could receive spam from student clubs selling party tickets.)

Hell—I asked a bartender at last night’s gig for her cheapest beer: she lectured me that I should never say this to a bartender, because it means I’m cheap and not going to tip well (uncorrelated, I’d argue). I ended up with a $6 Bud Light, plus $1 for the tip. NO! This is bullshit! This kind of pricing ought only be acceptable in two places: sports arenas, and strip clubs.

Here’s a few situations I’ve come across, and some tricks I’ve used to cut corners:

1. Dinner time. The waiter has asked us if we’d like anything to drink.

Private Equity Dick: Yeah, I’ll have your tall, fancy, cocktailrita. Bring it to me in a designer glass. The menu item has a star next to it that says “house specialty,” so it must be good. They didn’t bother listing a price; who knows how much it is? Whatever. Bring (and charge me for) a second one when I’m done, too. Even if I didn’t ask for one.

Guy with some Goddamn Sense: Just a water, please. You know, the free one you serve with ice. With free refills. And sometimes a lemon slice. (Editor’s Note: This tip may not apply if you live in a place like Zihuatanejo.)

2. At the bar. The bartender has acknowledged our presence (finally!).

Private Equity Dick: I want the hardest alcohol you’ve got (and the premium crap! nothing on rail!), but mix it with a a ton of fruity shit so that it’s probably watered down enough to serve to minors. Give me eight—one for each of my seven Consulting Dick friends.

Guy with some Goddamn Sense: A Budweiser. Not a Bud Light, a Budweiser. I am drinking efficiently. I’m not giving you the same money for a light beer that some brewing company just watered down. Budweiser’s ABV is 5% to Bud Light’s 4.2%.

When it’s applicable, I’m ordering a Pabst Blue Ribbon (5%) for a dollar less. Or possibly, if I’m feeling adventurous, an IPA (roughly, 6%-10%) for a dollar or two more. And by the way: You should thank me for just asking you to turn on a tap and move on to your next order and tip, rather than forcing you to bust out the crazy mixing glasses, sifters, juices, kitchenette set, and pyrotechnic equipment just for me.

3. At dinner. The waiter is back to take our order.

Private Equity Dick: What’s on special? Wait! Like I give a fuck! Just bring it to me. And a few extra $20’s you’ve got lying around back that I can use for napkins.

Guy with no Goddamn Cents: Just an appetizer. Probably something meat-based.

Why? Because I pre-gamed. You know, that thing everyone does before they go out drinking to try and cut back on their bar tab? Yep. I do it for dinners. I’ll make myself a sandwich or a bowl of pasta before heading out. My pasta at home isn’t all that much worse than anything you can prepare me at your restaurant. I won’t argue that I can’t compete with you in regard to meats, which require heightened practice, timing, seasoning, selection, and attention to detail. So that’s all I’ll order. What’s more, the price difference between a wheat-based and meat-based dish in the restaurant is probably only about 30%. At the supermarket? A pound of pasta is about a dollar. A decent cut of steak is probably eight or nine times that. So I try to allocate the distribution of my food pyramid needs accordingly, to each supplier’s competitive advantage.

Other notes:

• Cabs in groups of four. You don’t need the extra legroom for $15.
• Don’t buy drinks for girls. First of all: Everyone knows what you’re trying to do, and it doesn’t work. Save your money. Chivalry isn’t dead, but at the bar, it’s definitely kicked the bucket. Second of all: It’s way funnier to convince girls to buy you drinks instead.
• Cash. Always. The physical feel of draining your hard-earned money is totally depressing absolutely helps keep track of how much you’ve blown through, puts a natural limit on your spending that you get to set when you’re sober, and eliminates the obnoxious habit of opening a tab at the bar and forgetting it there overnight.