This column is a reader submission from hectorhammond. To learn how to make a submission, click here.
What’s the best feeling in the world? When it comes to the best day of people’s lives, the answers vary considerably. Older people will say it’s the birth of their children or maybe their wedding day or some other equally important event. Some will say it’s the day they graduated college or won the lottery.
For those who haven’t accomplished the above accolades and are living in the 9-5 grind, the boring cube life scrolling through mindless news articles, constantly working on something they’re not passionate about, or just working for an awful boss, the best feeling in the world is the glorious 3-4 hour span after work. When you hit punch out on your time card or give those last “See you tomorrow”’s to your co-workers as you confidently stroll out the door towards the nearest watering hole or the outdoor patio with the best deals to forget about whatever is going on at work or just absolutely spew verbal abuse at every single thing you hate about your office. I’m talking about Happy Hour.
When I’m walking out of work, it’s a grand fist pumping time. I can’t wait to wet the proverbial whistle and just forget about the unnecessary stresses of work. However, me and about 693,742 people have a little problem with going to Happy Hour. There is no Happy Hour in Boston, Massachusetts.
How unbelievably un-American. Everywhere in the US has Happy Hour. A literal time period where everyone is meant to be happy due to cheap drinks. Pretty sure it’s a small addendum in the constitution. Jefferson had a typo and meant to say that everyone was permitted to “life, liberty and happy hour”. The only pursuit I want to be involved in is the pursuit of the cheapest bucket of corona’s on a hot summer’s day.
The city that protested tea prices and threw it all into a harbor has no happy hour. No place for the regular working 20 something to carouse themselves into a revolution. I mean not that you’re actually going to do anything because you need the money and you’ll be too hungover to start a revolution but it’s the thought that counts.
If you’re reading this, Governor of Massachusetts Tom Brady, please legalize happy hour. In fact, anyone who’s able to bring the great citizens of Massachusetts Happy Hour would go down in Masshole lore and be spoken about with more reverence than anyone not named Brady or Belichick. The corner’s of dingy Allston bars would whisper about them and the drunken Southie finance bros would scream it to anyone who asked them to stop screaming on West Broadway.
I’m sure this has riled you up into wanting to start some change. The injustice that your Massachusetts Brothers and Sisters face nearly everyday has stirred up a fire in your belly. Or maybe its the indigestion from the 3 pitchers of cheap PBR you split with your coworkers at happy hour. Either way, I’ll get the go fund me and change.org petition as soon as I finish this Pedialyte from the afterwork drinks the other night. Hopefully, someone will notice that us 20 somethings have a found a cause that we can well and truly unite around.
The next plan of action will be getting more caffeine back into those demonic cans of FourLoko.