Do you have one of those places? You know the kind of place I’m talking about. A place you never plan on going to. A place where if you end up there you know you had a great night. And by a great night I mean a drunk night. A very drunk night. I think you know what I’m talking about.

I was in college and there was a townie bar that my buddies loved. I rarely ended up there. For a multitude of reasons. One. It was a bar. Every beer cost money. Two. I could drink at someone’s “kegger” for a few bucks (all night). See I had to work 2 or 3 summer jobs (laying sod, painting houses, grounds work at a High School). That was my spending money. I didn’t have much. Hell, in a way College was easy. Play soccer. Study a bit. Drink. Summer sucked. No car…bike from one job to the next. Come home exhausted. So when my buddies would set off for Wishart’s (the townie bar)…I usually went home or in search of the next kegger.

Sadly, Wishart’s is no longer there. It was a great corner lot and is now a sports bar (of course). Every town needs a Wishart’s. I love that my town now has a Wishart’s. And yes, if I end up there you know I’ve had a great night…and that I need to cab home.

I am not even sure it was called Wishart’s. I don’t recall a name above the door way (well I was drunk every time I was there). I’m not even sure there was neon in the window. It was on Wishart Street and I think we just called it that. I do recall that they had a jar of pickled eggs on the bar. You want to know when you were having a really good night? That’s right…when you order a round of pickled eggs. Now that’s a good night. A really good night. And by really good night I mean a great night. When “the round of Pickled Eggs” happened I was toast.

I look back now and wonder what the locals thought. Did they laugh at us? With us? Did they like having “young blood” in the place? I’m sure most of the time we were just a pain in the ass. Or maybe at 3 in the morning we were a shot in the arm.

Man, this is a long walk to get to Johnny Cash.

They had a jukebox.

I think you know where this is going. Every time I was there, this song was played. You couldn’t leave until you heard this song. An unwritten rule. Thank you dive bar. Thank you Wishart’s.

Not sure why but writing up this story dredged up a great memory. Paul (college buddy) and I had a game we would play on occasion. In the middle of conversations…someone would say something clever, interesting or cool and we would look at each other and debate if it were a band name or an album title. It’s more fun than it sounds. We were also drinking beer. I’m sure that helped. Or hindered.

Paul also loved Chaucer. The only reason I’ve read Chaucer is because Paul would go on and on about his love for The Canterbury Tales. I agree. You should read Chaucer. Just one of many reasons I loved chatting with Paul.

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