Last night I had to begin my travels for the week and found myself in what I’ve always thought was a fairly civilized part of South Carolina. Because I was road weary I looked for a restaurant in close proximity to the hotel and found an area with several chains so I decided to head into one and have some dinner and a beer or margarita. I get inside and as I salivate over the table topper with the margaritas and the insert the server took the time to put into my menu with the drink specials I waited with bated breath for the waitress to come take my order for a delicious adult beverage. The anticipation was thick as she approached the table and when she spoke those magic words, “Can I get you something to drink,” I almost had a drip of saliva fall from the corner of my mouth. I asked her what beers they had on tap so I could make an informed decision on a beer or a margarita and she replied, “We don’t serve alcohol in this location on Sunday, but the one on Woodruff Road does.” I almost fell out of my chair. Are well still suffering from Prohibition?
Turns out it is a $3000 permit to serve alcohol on Sunday in Greenville, SC. That’s a special kind of stupid if you ask me. I realize there is tax revenue for the permit, but have they taken a minute to calculate the tax revenue which would be created by selling the alcohol in the first place. At 6% tax and assuming a $6 average cost per drink they would make 36 cents on every drink. Now it would take over 750,000 drinks to replace the permit revenue, but you figure every patron has just one drink and all the patrons across the city on a Sunday and I’ll bet within a month of Sundays the revenue would be regained.
So it’s a combination of factors, old blue laws held over forever and politicians holding alcohol ransom by special Sunday permits. Sometimes I truly am glad where I live.
Bangers and Mash 