An assignment in one of our journalism school writing classes was to profile a bar or coffee shop. I chose a bar as I was over 21, and it was the first education-specific excuse to drink handed down to me during college. Our profile was due in class on Thursday morning, and Wednesday afternoon a violent blizzard descended on the city. The bar profile I wrote began with an anecdote about me riding a bike to the bar nearest my house in the middle of a huge snow storm. When I arrived at the bar, there was only one guest and three employees. Two of those employees were in charge of running was normally a raucous karaoke night and what could have been a wonderful profile of a local bar called The Goal Line. Instead my classmates heard a story about me playing pool against one other guy and us taking turns singing terrible songs. He tried to instill some wisdom in me after I told him about my bar profile piece that was due the next morning, but my only takeaway was that we were the only two people in the whole town who loved karaoke and dive bars so much that we headed out on a Wednesday night with the snow cranking.
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