Photo by Tirachard Kumtanom / CC0
But, by the time 7 p.m. rolled around, Jacoby was distraught to realize that her depression—aggravated by her stressful week—had not miraculously vanished, despite the event's promise of a better mood.
"Am I missing something here? It's called 'happy hour,' isn't it?" Jacoby recalled asking herself after returning home from the popular Mexican eatery still feeling sad, lethargic, and disinterested. "It was fun, sure, and the margaritas were good. But not good enough to replenish my serotonin levels, I guess."
Although she claims she had no intention of substituting happy hour for other treatments, like meditation, therapy, and antidepressants, Jacoby still felt cheated. "I'm in a legal studies course right now," she explained, "and I'm almost positive that this is a classic textbook case of fraud."
"Also, not for nothing," she added bitterly, "it shouldn't be called happy hour if it's two hours."