Resolve

I’m not a “New Year’s Resolution” guy. I’m not opposed to them. I just know myself and how I tend to lose focus. But a recent traumatic experience has inspired me to make a change. The timing of this year ending calamity almost seems divinely inspired.

During a day off last week, while most responsible adults were leaving work, preparing dinner for their families, and aiding in typical mid-week chores, I was participating in one of my all-time favorite events: happy hour.

I don’t know the exact origins of happy hour. I just know that it’s awesome. I’m guessing some Boston pub owner in the 1950’s was contemplating how to lure degenerates into his establishment during quiet hours. Give folks a reasonable discount for a while and maybe they’ll get turned up just enough to stick around and pay full price for another drink. And if we’re really lucky, they’ll get the munchies. Pub owner makes more money. Degenerates either pay less or drink more. It’s a win-win. Genius.

Happy hour has become a little watered down (see what I did there?) in recent years, offering piddly discounts and cutting the discount time down from 7pm to 6pm. It forces a drunkard to do a lot more legwork in determining where to get the most bang for your buck.

Which finally brings me to my story. Having just left a crappy happy hour spot, I hustled into a pillar of the happy hour community with approximately 8 minutes to spare. I promptly ordered a $13 drink at half price, giving me an immediate $6.50 worth of happiness.

I could tell this bartender was new to the game. Does she understand that the drink must be put into the system before 6pm? These computers have no forgiveness. Ring that shit in at 6:01 and that drink is right back to upper middle-class pricing. Surely, she understands this. I’ve clearly been a participant in happy hour for longer than she’s been alive. But for some silly reason, I have faith in her.

You can understand my utter contempt for her when I ask for the check 25 minutes later, and I’m staring at a piece of paper that says I owe $13.91. This is completely unacceptable.

The place was pretty busy. And she was pretty attractive. And I was feeling pretty self-conscious about bringing this to her attention. Did I really want to look like a cheap bastard over $6.50? I punked out, said nothing, and left this stalwart of solid happy hour pricing rather unhappy.

No matter how hot she was, no matter how many other patrons would have noticed, I should have stood up for my happy hour rights. I could have easily self-deprecated, smiled, and said something like, “Excuse me. I’m one of those cheap losers that shows up just before happy hour ends to order a drink at half price and hang out with regular people drinking at regular price. I guess it’s just my way of feeling special. Would you mind adjusting this for me, you apathetic millenial?” Easy peasy. All better. But no, I forked over my $16.91 and walked out broke and brokenhearted.

Did she not recognize the win-win in this scenario? I’m not homeless. If you serve me a drink that typically costs $13.91 for $6.96, I’m going to tip you $4 (maybe $5, if you’re hot and/or have some tiny bit of personality) instead of $3. You’re $1 (probably $2) richer, and I’ve gained at least $4.95 in happiness. It’s a beautiful system when properly executed.

I resolve to never let this happen again. My happiness is too valuable. If happy hour stops at 6pm, then happy hour should last until 6pm. Damnit. Happy New Year.