Happy Hour

1990

I had graduated from college, gotten a job, an apartment, and bought a new car. The professional stage of my life had been engaged. The evenings of Sunday through Thursday, for over two decades known to me as school nights, were now relatively free and not laden with the burden of homework. Was this to be the fruits of my years of study? Evenings of leisure?

I had the good fortune of stumbling across a few local friends who hailed from the college years. We convened weekly for a happy hour, and it was good. We’ll call several of these locals Wolfe, Picarelli, and Storer. Happy hour was about the camaraderie, though the inelegance of cheap dining was a definite mood enhancer. For the price of a beer one was granted free reign of the taco bar. Not so much tacos as ‘bowel burners’, so dubbed not because of the zesty zing at the point of entry. This gregarious meal became a highlight of the week.

The happy hour schedule was maintained for well over a year. Eventually people moved and jobs changed until happy hour was no longer a mainstay. The weekly gatherings dwindled to intermittent and finally disbanded. Over the years I lost touch with several cohorts.


After a gap of many years I came across a friend from this era of young adulthood at LinkedIn.com. Turns out he’s a freelance journalist, among other things. Last week he generously endured a battery of questions I posed regarding freelance protocol. I have enjoyed writing for several years and a foray in the area of freelance writing has been a recent curiosity of mine. Wonder if I learned anything from our conversation?

Oh, you can read his blog here.
-klem