That's What You Think: Eat, Drink, and be Happy

Published 11.26.02 in The Heights, Boston College


By Annie Barrett

Every Friday afternoon, 195 lucky BC students (and maybe a few local old guys) pour into Mary Ann's to enjoy forced small talk and cheap bottled beer.

Happy Hour (HH) isn't for everyone - namely, anyone who wants to retain hearing abilities or do anything of worth past 10 p.m. But HH regulars are intense. They arrive early, secure a table (extra points for stools), and make it to Presto's and back before the line forms.

Since this column never has anything nice to say about anything, we'll just skip right to ...


Inane Descriptions of Awkward Happy Hour Situations

Attempting movement. Due to the bar's crafty U-shaped setup, making your way from the video game section to the door takes anywhere from 15 minutes to two hours, depending on the crowd and your ability to weave sans eye contact. People act offended when you completely crash into them "by accident," but you don't care. The worst is when there are two semi-distinct lines of movement in opposite directions, vying for the most direct, people-free route. You all stare at each other, making faces like, "That's so rude, get out of the way." But it doesn't work.


Braving the bathroom. The women's bathroom is about five square feet, including stalls, but people still find it necessary to form a line inside. So when you squeeze your way out of the stall to face four "I have to pee, bitch" faces, you just want to get out of their way. But instead of nonchalantly escaping, you feel the need to loudly call attention to your decision not to wash your hands.

GIRL WHO PEED: "Dude, I'm at Mary Ann's - I'm not washing my hands!" Wait, that means I probably should wash them.

GIRLS WHO HAVE TO PEE: (smile politely in disgust) Eww, she's really gross. Does she go to BC?


Winging it. The competition among 200 hungry, drunken bodies for a few hundred barbeque chicken wings that probably don't even taste that good when you're sober is probably the worst display of humanity in the Boston area. Arms fly everywhere. Other people's full plates smack you in the face, spraying sauce. You eventually just close your eyes and start groping everywhere for the grub.

WING GRABBER: Excuse me, sorry, excuse me, oh I'm so sorry! No, I'm not. Get out of my way.

HIS FRIEND: Hey! Get the hot ones too! And blue cheese! And celery!

WING GRABBER: Yeah, yeah! Who are you kidding? I'm dying here. There's no time. There's no time!

HIS FRIEND: Hey! And napkins!


Talking the talk. You shuffle around in the same spot, rotating occasionally and sharing awkward stares with the people you're awkwardly pressing against but only know through other people. Eventually you give in and converse, painfully.

"Hey!" Even though I've been standing next to you for 15 minutes already and didn't acknowledge you.

"Oh, hey!" Is my fake surprise as transparent as hers?

"What's up?" Haha, I asked what was up first.

"Not much." (gestures around with beer bottle) "You know, Happy Hour."

"Right." Yeah. I know. "So ... are you happy?" What? And did I just make air quotes for the word "happy"?

"Gonna be a lot happier after a few more of these!" Smooth. Nice one.

"Yeah, cheers!" (clink) What a tool.


But the most typical characteristic of HH is the obligatory hello to people you haven't talked to since freshman year.

"Oh my God, Hi!" Oh my God, I see you all over campus and wouldn't say hi to you unless we were both tanked!

"Hey, you!" I don't remember your name, but yeah! Happy Hour!

There are more TWYTs, but they're not that funny and you've had more than enough.