There is a bar near the intersection of 3rd Street and Adams Street in Bethlehem. It is called J.P. McGrady's. They have good burgers, good wings, and a wide variety of beers on tap. Despite this, tonight I say, "A POX UPON YOU, MCGRADY!"
Gloria, John, and I went there tonight to get dinner. I figured that I'd just get a burger and drink water. I didn't want to spend a lot of money, and I was already feeling a little tired. The waitress told us, though, that there were "dollar domestic drafts." Awesome! I wasn't going to pass that up. John and I drank four pints of Sierra Nevada Pale Ale, got some wings, ate some tasty burgers, and we all had a good ol' time.
Then the check came, and it listed an $18 charge for the beer. When questioned, our waitress said, "Sierra Nevada isn't domestic." John repeated this statement to her, and she was forced to offer a less insane explanation: "The only dollar domestic beers are Miller, Bud, and [some other revolting beer]. I thought you guys heard me say that. She had not, of course, said that.
It really ruined the whole good time that we'd had. Seven dollars isn't going to break me, but it's a decent amount of money. It would pay for a movie ticket, or lunch at RTM one day this week, or a paperback book, or a pizza, or a number of other things that I would have enjoyed spending it on more than two pints of beer. In fact, if I'd just gotten water, I would've saved $9, not $7, and nine is almost ten! It's within one of ten!
I can tell you where I won't be going much for a while!