​Misty gave it the "old college try," but her grade point average suffered so horribly she lost all her scholarships and was unable to continue another year. She returned home to northern Minnesota and began juggling three part-time, minimum-wage jobs just to make rent and car insurance. 

 

Misty stared up at the clock and sighed. Roby’s bar, where she worked as a cocktail waitress, was absolutely dead. The few customers seated at the tables were pretty much ignoring the band set up on the backstage. No surprise there, thought Misty, the band sucked. No one was out on the dance floor. The pool and the shuffleboard tables were empty. Not one dart was being thrown. For a sports bar, there weren’t a lot of sports going on. She knew the manager was going to send her home early. There just wasn’t enough business that night to justify keeping her on for the entire shift.

​

The door to the bar opened, shaking Misty from her reverie. She glanced up to see twenty drunken sailors in their dress whites stumble through.

 

It was like a scene out of a 1940s movie. It seemed as though the moment that door opened, the bar came to life. The band still sucked, but now people were up out of their seats dancing. Pool balls were cracking, darts were thumping, and shuffleboard pucks were flying across their waxed runways.  In a matter of minutes, Roby’s was transformed.

​

It was the greatest thing Misty had ever seen. She spent the next few days with the sailors touring their ship, watching softball games between the sailors and local church leagues, and just showing them around the town. They had tattoos, they cussed, they burped, and Misty knew from the bottom of her soul that she wanted that life.

​

But she had connections and a support system in place at home. Maybe there was still hope?​​​