They look at each other and then go in, thinking this is too good to be true.
The old bartender says in a voice that carries across the room, “Come on in and let me pour one for you!
What’ll it be, gentlemen?”
There’s a fully stocked bar, so each of the men orders a martini.
In no time the bartender serves up four iced martinis shaken, not stirred and says, “That’s 10 cents each, please.”
The four guys stare at the bartender for a moment, then at each other. They can’t believe their good luck. They pay the 40 cents, finish their martinis, and order another round.
Again, four excellent martinis are produced, with the bartender again saying,”That’s 40 cents, please.”
They pay the 40 cents, but their curiosity gets the better of them. They’ve each had two martinis and haven’t even spent a dollar yet.
Finally one of them says, “How can you afford to serve martinis as good as these for a dime apiece?”
“I’m a retired tailor from Phoenix ,” the bartender says, “and I always wanted to own a bar. Last year I hit the Lottery Jackpot for $125 million and decided to open this place. Every drink costs a dime. Wine, liquor, beer it’s all the same.”
“Wow! That’s some story!” one of the men says.
As the four of them sip at their martinis, they can’t help noticing seven other people at the end of the bar who don’t have any drinks in front of them and haven’t ordered anything the whole time they’ve been there.
Nodding at the seven at the end of the bar, one of the men asks the Bartender, “What’s with them?”
The bartender says, “They’re retired people from Florida. They’re waiting for Happy Hour when drinks are half-price, plus they all have coupons.”
An elderly golfer comes in after a good round of golf at the new course and heads straight to the bar/restaurant area of the club house.
As he passes through the swinging doors, he spots a sign hanging over the bar that reads:
Checking his wallet to be sure he has the necessary money, the old golfer walks up to the bar and beckons to the exceptionally attractive female bartender who is serving drinks to a couple of sun-wrinkled golfers.
She glides down behind the bar to the old golfer.
“Yes?” she inquires with a wide, knowing smile. “May I help you sir?”
Will the old golfer leans over the bar and whispers, “I was wondering young lady, are you the one who gives the hand-jobs around here?”
She looks into his wrinkled eyes and with a wide smile purrs, “Yes sir, I sure am.”
The old golfer leans in even closer and into her left ear says softly, “Well then, be sure to wash your hands real good, because I want a cheeseburger.”