Sup’ posers, it’s your favorite third year senior, Xavier. I know I’ve been here awhile, but you can’t rush life man, or life will rush you (attribute me if you tell someone that). Between writing poetry and vaping until my lungs burst, I’m rather busy. Yet when Thursday night rolls around, I always find time to head to the only bar in Kalamazoo that’s still cool: Waldo’s.
This bar is unlike the others. Don’t catch my drift? Let me explain by telling you how a typical Thursday night goes for me…
Before heading to Waldo’s, I need to vibe with my only two friends. We usually hit the bong and Tommy always surprises us with a blunt last minute, so we don’t show up to the bar until about 11 p.m. Before putting out my cig, I walk through the back entrance, since I live in the Student Ghetto. The bouncer doesn’t even have to check my ID since I’m a regular and not some bro that bar hops for no reason.
Once I walk into the bar, my calm stoner brains goes into full force realizing how fucking loud this place can be. I head straight to the bar to order a whiskey coke pitcher that will for sure fuck up my 110-pound ass. I put my hoodie over my beanie to avoid the couple of frat douchebags that are talking about how some girl Lindsey’s tits look tonight.
For how chill Waldo’s can be, this part is not chill.
I make my way back to the corner where I see some of my dudes playing pool. Luckily, Waldo’s is big enough that we hipsters can chill without posers talking to us.
After sitting in the corner vaping for an hour, taking in how great Waldo’s is, I notice my pitcher is almost gone, so I head downstairs to piss before getting another. Even though my Warby Parker’s don’t prevent my vision from spinning, it’s always fun to piss on the CMU logos in the urinal, even if I miss.
As I exit the bathroom, I start to laugh my ass off. Not sure if it’s the drugs or whiskey that makes me wonder if I have teleported to a cabin Up North. That’s Waldo’s, man–just making you feel like you’re one with your surroundings.
I take a seat next to the fireplace. After 15 minutes, I realize it is not actually lit. Between the two of us, I am the only person lit.
Usually around this time, I bum a cig from someone and smoke it outside. I check my wristwatch (my grandfather’s, vintage) and get instantly pissed when I see it’s not 4:20, but just a bit past 1:30 a.m.
I try to get find Tommy but get stuck in a heated conversation with somone on how everyone is a fake Bob Marley fan. Suddenly, some drunken bitch looks at my t-shirt that has a wolf on it and howls at me.
Like a level-headed, cool-mannered hipster that I am, I walk away and mumble, “fucking bitch” under my breath like a gentleman. She must be Lindsay, and it makes me glad that those guys were talking about her earlier.
I start to crave the leftover vegan burger I have at home, so I push through the crowd figuring the more drunk I look, the faster I can get through. Not long passes before I see my buddy passed out in the corner, so I wake him up and we say adios to Waldo’s as we light our cigs for our walk home.
Oh, what a night. A cabin bar that is so cozy, it reminds me of my uncles at home dispo where I can kick back and light some incense. What could be better than Waldo’s?
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