Source: Reddit
I was at this dive or bar in Berlin—which is the real stuff. Dim lights, graffiti in the bathrooms, sticky floors. The good kind. I went to wash my hands, and there it is, bolted to the wall above the toilet: a wall-mounted ashtray.
I just stared at it. One of those “wait, is this what I think it is?” moments. These things are a blast from the past. A grimy little time capsule of when people could smoke everywhere. Bathrooms, planes, offices, elevators.
Back When Smoking Indoors Was Just… Normal
Everyone smoked back then. Your doctor. Your grandmother. Restaurants had ashtrays on every table.
In a bar, it wasn’t just allowed, it was practically a requirement. That wall-mounted ashtray wasn’t optional. People lit mid-conversation, extinguished mid-sentence, and dumped the butts without a second thought.
That Weird, Ridged Design Had a Purpose
Those ridges? They weren’t random. You could shove your cigarette into them, lean a cigarette on them, or hang out with a cigarette in your hand.
That cavity behind the ridges caught your ashes and butts. Some of these things used to pivot open for dumping; others just dumped it into your wall.
Wall-Mounted Ashtrays With Battle Scars
The one I saw in Berlin was rusted, half-open, and probably hadn’t seen use since the 1990s. But it still belonged there. You could see the history—the years of heavy smokes extinguished on awkward dates, drunken diatribes, and broken-hearted musings.
I’ve seen them at train stations, hanging out in hallway corners of old apartments, and diners. All looked about the same: chipped paint, yellowed steel, sometimes a half-burnt filter still sitting in the groove.
Disgusting But Familiar
They are disgusting. The smell. The dirt. Whatever mystery goo is permanently stuck to them. Still, they feel oddly comforting.
They remind me of long nights in loud bars, and warm beers, and cloudy mirrors. They feel more real than anything shiny and new.
Still Here, Somehow
Most of them are just forgotten. Bolted to tile or cement, rusted into place (too much trouble to remove), or maybe a bar is keeping it out of nostalgia character; hard to say.
Maybe they’ve changed over time and faded into the background. Like little ghosts of smoky pasts.
One Last Draw
Next time you see a wall mount ashtray, give a nod. That wall-mounted ashtray has seen things; late-night confessions, breakdowns, first kisses, and probably more Marlboros than you can fog up the decade with.
Not every nostalgic thing needs to be shiny or sweet to be worthy of remembering. Sometimes it just needs to be real.
