I hope I won’t get run out of town for this, but I have a confession to make: I like to drink a beer every now and then. And I don’t mind it one bit when the bartender charges me less between the hours of, say, 5 and 7 o’clock.
Am I the only one who finds it strange that a city famous for “Cheers” has endured a ban on “happy hour” for nearly three decades?
I don’t think so. Bill Walczak, who is running for mayor, also expressed bewilderment last week: “How can Boston be a place where you can let your hair down and have fun when you don’t have the typical accoutrements of an urban area? Not even urban. My sister lives in Avenel, New Jersey. And they have happy hour.”
To be fair, it’s not just Boston. It’s a statewide ban, passed in 1984 under Governor Dukakis, whose brother died in a hit-and-run accident. We were the first state to take that step. More than a dozen followed, but few enforce their restrictions as zealously as we do.
Yes, my friends, we live in a state where doctors will soon be able to prescribe marijuana for stomach pain, and casinos will soon serve as much free whiskey as your liver can handle, as long as you’re gambling your money away. But somehow the geniuses in the control room here think civilization itself will unravel if your neighborhood bar gives you a dollar off on Thursday night.
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