{Happy Hour}: Together with Our (Drinking) Problems

It is actually illegal for bars to observe this so-called “Happy Hour” in Massachusetts. Maybe that is because all of the bars are doing their part to keep the ruffians and hooligans out. Maybe it is because the bars realize that we are all desperately in need of a stiff drink and are willing to pay $6 for a beer that costs less than $2 at a liquor store. Why? The opportunity to not drink alone.

Even if you are not sociable by nature, drinking alone is one of the most commonly recognized signs of alcoholism, and rather than admitting that we have a problem, we would rather be with other people—together with our problems. As anti-social as I am, I prefer to drink around other people.

Yes, I’ll admit that I have a problem.

In fact, I have many problems. My extended family uses me as their bridge to remain connected to my manic-depressive bipolar mother, who suffers from PTSD after her father raped her as a child, so that they can feel like they have done their job of “staying in touch.” My fiancée and soon-to-be step-daughters require a lot of attention and time, and as much as I truly love my time with them, I should spend my efforts trying to cure my current unemployment. My student loan is evaporating my bank account, my get-rich-quick podcast and YouTube schemes are flops, and it is getting harder every day to ignore the sounds my car should not be making.

Thanks for stopping by my pity party. I hope you at least enjoyed open bar. That’s what we’re all here for, isn’t it?

In pursuit of company or closure, my wanderings take me from bar to bar along the coast of the Bay State. From a dive bar with tables bolted to the floor and no chairs, to a jazz club in an oppressively white town, to depressing chain restaurants whose bouncer-turned-musical bingo/trivia-night-host keeps clipping the microphone, I have overheard it all—seen a bit, too. But no matter the drinks, the place, or the placards announcing what type and how much clothing must be worn in order to be served (or tasteless jokes about how little clothing women should wear in order to be overserved), everyone has the same problem with alcohol, which is also the only problem with alcohol: no one knows how to use it.

Scientists will tell you that alcohol is not the mood elevator most advertisements depict, but rather a depressant that will lead to the increase in negative, sometimes suicidal, thoughts and behaviors. Having learned from many nights of observation, I can tell you that those warnings are mostly bullshit.

Alcohol does not drown sorrows, nor does it bring on insuppressible bouts of giggles.

It is not meant to be chugged in order to achieve a “buzz.” It is meant to be sipped while you sit alone and contemplate your actual problems. It is meant to be a social lubricant to help stimulate conversations about things that do not matter to create and foster relationships that do. Above all, it is meant to assist in the creation of enjoyable experiences with people you enjoy spending time with. For me, that means never talking directly to strangers, but overhearing their problems. And those experiences help me realize that I am not alone and that things could always be worse.