Major Writing Assignment: "The Wishing Well"

Going to my first bar at the age of 19 was a disappointing memory I will never forget. The day stated like any other day. I woke up around 9 a.m. to my alarm blaring its obnoxious beep. Once the alarm subsided, the first thought came into my head like every morning, “Shit I don’t want to go to work.” At this time in my life I worked at Radioshack in Stanwood. The job was not the most exciting, but it was a relaxed environment, so once I actually made it to work it was not bad being there. After doing my morning rituals of showering, getting dressed, Lucky Charms, brushing my teeth, and running to my car so I would not be late, I thought to myself, “I hope something interesting comes up to day.” It was only a matter of time until my thoughts would come true.

I whipped into the parking lot at about 110 miles an hour, well, maybe not exactly that fast, in my 1997 Honda Civic. I thought I was late, like every day, but for a change I was early. I took my time walking in for the fact that it was a gorgeous summer day. There was not a cloud in the sky, and you could feel it was going to warm due to it being early morning and I only needed a T-shirt. I hate being cooped up somewhere when I know it is nice out. When I reached the door, I opened it and heard the sound of the cheap Christmas bell nailed to the top of the door that I hated so much. My manager was too much of a penny pincher to pay for the fancier electric bell. You know the one I am talking about, like the ones in a lot of gas stations. I could see I was going to be working with my good bud Dan Weatherly. He was counting in all the tills for the morning to make sure there was enough money in them. As I walked past, he threw a pen at the back of my head just to be punk; it was always a blast working with him. He was the manager and did not take his job seriously. Dan at the time was 23 and is about 6’2 and smokes a lot of pot. He dresses like all of those college hippies you see up in Bellingham, with the brown pants and faded shirts. He always dropping the cliché stoner terms like dude and ya bro. I cannot give the exact weight of Dan, but there is no way he weighs more than 155 pounds.

The day was going great for the most part until closing time. A complete ass of a man came in and needed to know information on some cell phones, actually he demanded the information. The guy reeked of cigarettes and grease. After about 25 minutes of trying to explain everything to the stubborn man, he finally waddled out with is new found information that any person with slightest amount of common sense would have been able to figure out. I said after all that, “Man I need a beer.”

Dan replied, “Ok, where?” I was confused, so he answered for me and said we will go to the Wishing Well. The feeling of excitement swept over me, 19 and going to a bar. I felt as if I was the coolest kid ever at that moment. We closed down Radioshack in record time and set forth to the WishingWell.

My first sight in the bar was not what I was expecting at all. I thought I was going to see hot chicks, laughter, and more of an upbeat atmosphere. The place was dark, like a lonely dive bar seen in a movie. The bar tender was a fat older woman with graying hair. Her face was rugged for a woman. You could tell she smoked minimum of three packs a day by the sound of her voice. Behind her sat rows and rows of hard liquor. Wrapping around the bar were lights, like the ones that light up the stairs in a movie theater. In the far right corner there was jukebox, but of course it was out of order. A piece of paper saying, “Broken,” covered it. There were four middle aged men sitting at the bar, all had a five o’ clock shadow. They were most likely friends from high school that never made it out of Stanwood. They looked as if they worked on farm or in some factory. The guys stared as we walked passed to our table. Words were not ever spoken, but I could tell they were not happy. Their faces said, I hate my life, I need another drink to kill this pain. My chair was one of those chairs with four wheels that glide around freely, but this one was special, it only had three. Nothing seemed right in this bar. In my head I thought once again, “This is not what I was expecting.” Long past my feelings of excitement turned into dejection. I sped up the process of being there by ordering an over priced beer, chugging it down, had a little small talk, then said I need to get going. As I was walking back to my car I remembered feeling sad and thinking of my old view on a bar, being an upbeat party environment, was not exactly 100% correct.

Going to your first bar is supposed to be a great memory. In my case the Wishing Well was not what I was expecting. It was lonely, dark, and gave a negative vibe. It was a disappointment, but it is a lasting memory I am glad I experienced, since at that time I had never seen anything like it. I will always hold on to the memory of my first bar at the age of 19.