We don’t mean any of this

NW Staff

Every student knows that illustrious bar named after a piece of wooden American currency. That currency is, of course, the Nickel and it’s only wooden when it’s the name of a bar.

If you haven’t guessed yet, we’re talking about the Wooden Nickel, which was, until around three years ago, the best bar in Marquette.

What makes this bar so great is the affordable drinks and the homey atmosphere. Part of that homey atmosphere is the sawdust floor, which was wisely kept when changes were made three years ago. But around that same time, when changes weren’t happening, the inviting, wooden “Open” sign, was unwisely not kept.

That sign was the icing on the cake, the cherry on the sundae, the ketchup on the hot dog, and now we have to enjoy our hot dogs sans ketchup. How could anyone ask us, college students, the backbone of Marquette, to dine on hot dogs, and not offer us some Heinz 57?

The former sign welcomed many a student for decades, or however long it was there before it was gone. And we’re left with a cliché neon sign looming above us, casting a pallid orange glow. The sign no longer welcomes us into the bar; it simply lets us know it is open.

What’s going to happen next? After three more years, are they going to replace the stools with high-backed upholstered chairs? Sweep the floors? Get real glasses instead of Mason jars? Make a typed list of the people who have been banned? Raise the price on PBR from $1.25 to $1.30?

Then, the next thing we know, they’ll be nickel and nickeling us until we’re forced to go to a less classy establishment, like the UpFront, to enjoy our weeknights.

But all we really want is that wooden sign, which was like a mother to many of us, to return to its original duties, its original post. That sign was a landmark of Marquette and, three years ago, it was thoughtlessly stripped of its rightful place hanging over Presque Isle Avenue, letting us know that it’s all OK.

In our minds, the Nickel just isn’t the Nickel without the original “Open” sign. We’re asking, nay, begging the owner, please for the love of beer, to bring it back.

As it stands right now, the Southern Blow staff cries every time they have to walk underneath that neon orange signs that reads “Open.”

It may as well read “Closed.”