The Most Blasphemous Thing a D.C. 20-Something Can Say

31 Oct


Ok guys. I’m going to make another confession, one that I know is going to amount to heresy for a D.C. young professional in her 20s.

I hate happy hour. 

I know. I KNOW. Who the fuck doesn’t love happy hour? It’s a great way to get drunk for cheap, bond better with people you don’t know that well and, in certain fields, meet people that will be valuable professional connections.

But when I came home after an absurdly long (and slightly hungover…) day at the office and saw this GIF, it just perfectly encapsulated why I would so much rather come home and flop into a chair while the rest of YoPro DC schmoozes and boozes from 5:30-6:30 7:30 8:00 just one more drink oh what the hell let’s order flatbread pizzas, pound tequila shots and dance.

Here are the top 3 cons:

  • It’s never just one quick drink. In addition to the obvious rejoinder – why would you ever stop at just one drink, even though it’s 5 pm on a Tuesday and not 11 pm on a Friday? – the entire freaking point of half of these happy hours is to drink enough that it’s not weird. So that you don’t feel weird that you tried to combine your regular friends with your coworkers with your random high school friend who’s just not good at socializing. So that you have the courage to ask the one important person there for their card. Etc. So expect to get drunk. Which brings me to…
  • SO FUCKING HUNGRY. Maybe this is a fundamental problem with the way our days are structured in modern society, but there is no way you’re not starving at 5:30 or 6 pm unless you forgot to eat lunch until 3, or at 4 you availed yourself of the donuts that a coworker brought in because how the fuck else were you going to get through the day. (Did I do this today? Maybe). With happy hour drinks inevitably come happy hour foods. Expect to eat all kinds of nonsensical fried shit because they’re happy hour appetizers and they don’t really count. I’m not even talking mozz sticks and calamari, either. DC establishments know their HH clientele, and they get really creative with the fried plates, from breaded mac and cheese bites to fried cheese and spinach balls to god knows what else. You’ll feel great about all those calories on the metro ride home at 10 pm, I promise.
  • Remember all that shit you had to do? Last week, I wrote about how the real world sucks and it’s really hard to get everything done that adulthood expects of us. One problem with that is that there just isn’t enough time outside of the workday to do the random stuff that piles up on you. And nothing sucks more than coming home from an inadvertently extended HH at basically bedtime and feeling like it’s not even worth it to tipsily write your roommate that check or look for that Macy’s receipt or sort the mail. Oh, and LOL if you think you can go to happy hour and still remember to pick up your dry cleaning because in case you hadn’t noticed, that shit closes basically at the time you switch from beer to vodka.

I’m not trying to be a hater. Ok, maybe I am. But I’m just saying that I’ve been home for 3.5 hours and I’ve already managed to call my mom, call my aunt, do a load of laundry, unload the dishwasher, cook dinner, reload the dishwasher, help my younger sister with an assignment, watch 20 minutes of a weird Netflix movie before losing interest, and finally put in that Amazon order that I’ve been putting off for days.

It’s been a really productive few hours, is what I’m trying to say.

And you better believe I cracked a beer while I got all that shit done. Happy hour came to Betty, bitches.

One Response to “The Most Blasphemous Thing a D.C. 20-Something Can Say”


  1. Cursed or #Blessed? | STOP REQUESTED - November 1, 2013

    […] going to play off of Betty’s post yesterday about hating happy hour, and her post last week about the dark side of #PostGradProblems, and talk about a post grad […]

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