The screwdriver is a drink so bad, so uninspired, that its name describes the only time it’s acceptable to drink one: when all you have is a gross, rusty screwdriver to stir your drink with. That’s a fact, by the way.

The drink was invented when a bunch of degenerate construction workers from the ’20s decided that just getting drunk after work didn’t quite satisfy their need to ride a wave of vodka from punch-in to punch-out. Thus, flasks were snuck into metal lunch boxes, and, undoubtedly, horrifying yet pretty hilarious workplace accidents ensued. The point is unless you suddenly find yourself in a time warp leading back to Carnegie-era New York City, you’re an idiot for making a screwdriver, and a double idiot for ordering one at a bar. Bars are for drinks that actually take effort, not for something you can stumble over to your fridge with your eyes closed and still reliably make nine out of 10 times.

Fortunately, there’s an answer. Yes, you can still enjoy your uninspired drink and actually inspire it with some flavor, and it’s called the Harvey Wallbanger.

Unlike the screwdriver, the Harvey was named after a guy who ordered 10 or so of the damned things and got so drunk he started banging into the walls. Not a construction worker, not a count or a duchess — just a normal, problematic drunk guy. Just like you.

Here’s what you need:

– 2 parts orange juice

– 1 part Vodka (do yourself a favor and get some Russian Standard; it’s called that for a reason)

– A splash of Galliano

Here’s how you do it:

First, put a few ice cubes in a rocks glass (that’s the smaller glass, kids).

Pour the vodka in, then add the OJ and stir. Some recipes will tell you to just add the orange juice and leave it. They are wrong.

Add the Galliano on top, and drink.

Drink up this song from Yesterday’s New Quintet, too. It’s “Uno Esta:”

That’s all it takes, people. One simple touch of anise-flavored goodness and your drink goes from freshman-year trash bag swill to a bouquet of flavor — something you can order at the bar without having to worry whether the bartender’s gonna put a tiny little plastic umbrella in there.

Keep the umbrellas at the beach, folks. That’s where they belong.