Sometimes you want to go… 

Before I entered the professional newspaper business, I had an enviable work life.Picture of the Copper Top

I was a small part of a 12/15-person newsroom at a college paper, full of what seems like the smartest and most devoted people I’ll ever know.

It was a five-day-er, we’d go in early, stay up late then go to a local bar to complain about the day’s problems.

The Copper Top wasn’t a prime college spot. There were no strobe lights and techno music, no $1 well drinks or wristbands. They never had a Ladies Night as far as we knew, but there was this every-other-day-average-looking-middle-aged bartender with huge fake breasts — the kind you look at in disgust at 11 p.m. and can’t take your eyes off of at 2 a.m.

Beneath the sometimes self-perpetuated cloud of cigarette smoke were pool tables, a dartboard and a digital jukebox that played rock and rap hits of 1991-2001. It was sanctuary.

Most of the time, we’d discuss issues we had at work — fundamental arguments not covered or completed from 10 a.m. to midnight. We’d argue the night’s pages over Rage Against the Machine. We’d discuss editing during Jay-Z’s “99 Problems.”

I remember most of the week’s best story ideas or design changes came from that bar and most of the daily frustrations were taken out on pitchers of Yuengling.

We were coworkers and friends. We all wanted the paper to be better.

I speak to those friends often, but we live in different states and have different schedules.

So I hope to find another Copper Top here. At the very least, I can take out a little frustration while exercising my typing ability.

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