The retirement community in which Wilma resides might be somewhat unique in that it has a pub. The pub was added a few years ago during an extensive expansion, presumably to try to attract younger retirees. From the looks of it, that attempt has been unsuccessful to date. From what I can tell, the average age of residents seems to be in the neighborhood of 80.
Having said this, I will tell you that Smitty’s Pub seems to have acquired a loyal clientele. Around 4 o’clock in the afternoon, just before their regular dinner hour of 4:30 or 5, 10 folks or so gather in the pub for a drink. The men drink beer; the women seem to prefer white Zinfandel. They gossip and talk politics and catch up on who is in the hospital.
Since the pub is only open two hours a day, they don’t bother to hire bartenders. Instead, they pull whoever isn’t acting busy from the kitchen whether or not they know a thing about tending bar.
Last night Bill suggested we go to the pub for a drink. We entered the pub and saw a frightened-looking girl tending bar who was hoping like hell I would order white zin. I decided to be kind and not order a martini. Instead I ordered a gin and tonic. She can’t screw that up, right? An ounce or so of gin poured over some ice, topped off with tonic water and finished with a squeeze of lime. Easy peazy. And Bill ordered a Heineken.
She quickly poured Bill’s beer, and then began working on my gin and tonic. First she got out a martini glass. Then she got out a shaker. I was hoping she was making someone else’s drink. She poured a jigger of gin into the shaker and added a little tonic, closed it up and began shaking. She happily poured it into the martini glass and gave me my drink — gin and tonic, straight up!
Gin and tonic, ala Smitty’s Pub…….