from the desk of Oliver Hartman – Resident Bargain Whorespondent
Narcoleptic alcoholic strippers: there's nothing better in the world.
The three-martini lunch used to be a staple of any Ad man or business tycoon worth a damn. Then, in 1976, Jimmy Carter tried to bring the smack down. He didn’t succeed entirely, but the trend of meandering, expensed, business lunches dwindled. There was a brief revival during the stock boom of the late 80’s (read Gersh Kuntzman’s Newsweek Article).
More recently, memoirist Augusten Burroughs (of Running with Scissors fame) assures us all hope is not lost in Dry. As a copy writer for a major advertising agency in New York he gets sloshed with clients regularly.
My experience working for a boutique communications agency in San Francisco was tamer. I would have a one beer lunch. It encouraged naps, and was therefore discouraged. Then I made the switch to the one-Sparks lunch. Three would have killed me. My productivity went through the roof, but my urine became fluorescent unless I drank a lot of water. None of this was tax-deductible.
What to do then? Accounting departments embrace austerity measures, Sparks fades from shelves, and one beer puts me to sleep. My uncle says martinis taste like jet fuel. I agree and therefore only drink them after 4 o’clock.
The answer is 2 for 1 Drunkard’s Lunches compiled by the folks at Thrillst.
If you somehow don’t have a job, but income (egg/sperm seller!) you should start going to Marathon happy hours.
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that photo looks like you on Maui, whorespondent