It was a typical Friday night in Seattle’s Ballard neighborhood. The clock hadn’t reached the double digits of late night hour, and as such, the 25 and under crowd had yet to descend upon the poorly lit fishermen dive bars of the neighborhood for their evening’s night cap of Rainer, whiskey, and debauchery.

On this particular Friday night I, the omnipotent narrator of this economic tale, found myself holed up in one of these salty establishments. Saddle up to the wooden bar, indulging my younger years with a cold Rainer, I couldn’t help but overhear the conversation being spun up by my bar top counterparts.

A scruffy looking old man with an odor of today’s catch sauntered up to the bar. His gate exhibiting a life spent walking on uneven seas. “I’ll take whiskey and whatever the cook’s got that’s warm and won’t kill me.”

The middle aged businessman who’d been sitting at the bar since 5, nearly spit his hoppy double IPA out mid drink. “Psst,” as he attempted to choke it back down.

“You alright lad?” Asked the old man.

Speaking between coughs as he attempted to regain his composure, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

“Ah, I remember my first drink. I was 10. You look like you’re a late bloomer.” Chucked the old man as emptied his rocks glass of whiskey on fluid gulp. “Another.” As he slid the glass toward the bartender.

The businessman still flush from choking turned a shade redder with embarrassment. Laughing he responded, “No, it was your food order. It caught me off guard.”

Just then the loud rumble of the businessman’s cell phone vibrating atop the bar interrupted the the comically awkward conversation.

Zzzz…zzzz…zzzz

The businessman frantically grabbed for the phone as it vibrated itself across the bar. Once off the bar top the screen lit his slightly less red face. His eyes swung from side to side as his thumb rhythmically flicked up on the screen. “A $5K a year moorage increase?” He unconsciously mumbled loud enough to hear. “Ugh, this boat is draining me.”

“Ah, a man of the sea!” The old man motioned a cheers. His glass nearly empty, he waved for another.

“I wouldn’t go that far.” The businessman sheepishly remarked. “My wife and I thought it would be a great idea to buy a boat a few years ago. You know, really take advantage of all the water around here. The first summer was great. We got out every weekend. We’d even planned to take her up to the San Juan islands for a little romantic getaway that next summer.”

“If the boat’s a rockin’.” Hoarsely cackled the old man.

For a second time the businessman nearly showered the bar with his drink.

Politely, “Something like that.” The businessman continued. “But since that first summer, we’ve only taken the boat out a handful of times. I don’t even remember taking her out at all last summer. In the meantime, the upkeep and moorage fees keep getting more and more expensive each year.”

The old man feigns sympathy by nodding while he side eyes the bartender. The bartender reaches into the well and grabs the bottle of whiskey. The loud clank of the bottle shakes the business man out of his pity.

“Hey! You know boats, what do you think I should do?” Excitedly asks the business man.

Pouring himself a refill the old man looks up and responded bluntly, “Sell the boat.”

The businessman leans back on his stool contemplatively. The lull in the conversation makes me acutely aware of the pool shark in the far corner of the bar whose beginners luck has sudden taken effect. In one long consecutive turn he effortlessly pokes all of his remaining balls into the corner pockets. The businessman relaxes back toward the bar.

“I mean I could.” He pauses as slowly pulls himself out of his contemplation. “But I’ve already put so much into it already. If I sold it -

“You’d stop wasting money on a boat you don’t use?” Sarcastically interrupted the old man. “Listen lad, no offense but you’re no King Neptune and I don’t see you sprouting gills anytime soon. You young city folk buy these shiny new boats and in ten years after you’ve used them a few times and spent bundles of cash. Me or one of my crusty old friends, will come in and buy them from you for next to nothing. All because next summer is the summer you’ll use it more.”

Dumbfounded the businessman searches for a response.

The old man tossed back another glass. “We fisherman have an old saying. It ain’t use wasting strength bailing a sinking boat when you could be swimming to shore.”

“I suppose you’re right. Although, I just had it detailed for this season. Maybe I’ll pay the moorage fee for the winter and sell it after next summer‘s season.” Wavering in his agreement the businessman finished his drink.

The old man poured some whiskey in the businessman’s empty pint.

Cheersing the businessman with the half empty bottle of whiskey the old man responded, “Here’s to whatever floats your boat!”