Inquirer and Mirror
July 27, 2006

Town Regulations Stifle Entrepreneurs

To the Editor,

            Tom and I were the next Juice Guys.  On the first day that Happy Time Snacks opened, we had made a bigger impact on the island than we had in all our 16 summers coming to the place.  In its short life, our boat-based snack store had become a beacon in the harbor.  Our crudely painted straw signs affixed to our colorfully decorated skiff greeted vacationers and islanders alike as they moved about the harbor.  Our souped-up lemonade stand was a total success.  Three days later, we received an order to “cease and desist” from an official at the Nantucket Health Department.
            Like all strokes of genius, the concept of Happy Time Snacks first came to me in the shower one morning, just a few days before we left Philadelphia for another summer in Nantucket.  I had an internship at the UMass Boston Nantucket field station, and my cousin Tom was going to volunteer at the Boys and Girls Club.  Neither of us would be making a single dollar this summer.  Creating a floating lemonade stand seemed like an exciting alternative to bagging groceries at the Stop & Shop.
            The economics of Happy Time Snacks were simple.  By purchasing all our supplies in bulk at home and then driving them up with us to Nantucket, we could offer the convenience of beachfront snack delivery.  Our sodas and snacks, such as brand-name cookies and chips, generally cost $1, while beach toys went for around $4.  We weren’t going to be making much profit, but we would have a good time and our customers would be happy they weren’t being over-charged.  Tom and I would approach a beach in the skiff, then jump out and pull the boat along the shoreline.  We would wait for the customers to approach us, trying to be as polite and unobtrusive as possible.  Most often, someone would yell from the beach, “what are happy time snacks?” or, “do you have ice cream?” (the answer to the latter being no, because onboard our snacks were kept in a cooler, not a freezer).
             The Health Department’s concern was that we had not paid for appropriate licensing, nor had our food storage facility been inspected.  Both valid faults in our business plan—had we been Cumberland Farms.  But we were not Cumbys (our net profit for the three days was $30), despite the official’s argument that we were subject to the same standards.  Like a lemonade stand, we were never going to make the profits to support an expenditure of $250 for licensing and inspection.  When asked over the phone why Happy Time Snacks was being handled as a store, not a lemonade stand, the official retorted that they were attempting to shut down lemonade stands too.  If this retort weren’t so humorous, it would be appalling.
            The Health Department’s closing of Happy Time Snacks was a low point in my family’s experience on Nantucket.  It was sad for all of us, not just because of the immediate setbacks it created in our summer plans, but because it is yet another indication of the trend toward regulated elitism that has increased since I’ve been coming here.  Why does a 16 year-old need a permit to sell cheap juice boxes to little kids on the beach?  We didn’t pose a serious health threat.  Everyone knows that 6 year-olds selling lemonade probably don’t wash their hands, and if you were really concerned about your health, you wouldn’t buy from them.  Likewise, if you were concerned that Happy Time Snacks was selling tainted Oreos, you wouldn’t buy from us.  These are the risks of everyday life, why should the town regulate them?
            Nantucket’s over-regulation of commerce discourages amateur entrepreneurs.  It eliminates one of the ways kids can learn cherished American ideals, like the merits of free enterprise, the value of a dollar, and the satisfaction of hard work.  In its place, the public health official recommended that my cousin and I “go to the beach” like other summer residents.  Go to the beach and…..do what?  Lie around and drink?  After all, we’re 16—it’s pretty much what our friends do all summer.
            As an urban kid, I grew up cherishing the sense of being in a small town when I came to Nantucket.  Leaving the keys in the ignition and walking around barefoot were comforts I could not enjoy back home.  But even in Philadelphia, you don’t need a license to sell lemonade.