Twilighter Country Club

(This review is a re-post from my personal blog, about a visit a while back.   So take it with a grain of salt, a lot may have changed about this bar since then.)

We parked in front of the Twilighter Country Club and were actually a little skittish about walking in. We worked up the nerve and heading on inside.

We took our seats at the double-L shaped bar. To our right, an older gentleman on oxygen was chain smoking while nursing his whiskey. Catty-corner to us, two leathered older women gossiped over bottled beer. (Except that the ladies were not older after all, we later learned from context that they were in fact in their mid 20s.)

Our bartender was a heavily pierced young woman who was watching daytime television and munching on onion rings. She glared at us for a moment when we sat down before sighing, setting down a half-eaten ring, and coming over to see what we wanted.

After pouring us each a 12 oz draw of Bud Light ($1.25 each) she huffed, grabbed her onion rings, and sat back down to watch TV.

Now when you've had a few beers it's inevitable that nature will come calling, and in our profession that means you grow accustomed to relieving yourself under a wide variety of conditions. Which is fortunate, because the men's room here was swarming with flying insects and even featured urinal millipedes -- a first for us!

As we reached about the mid-way point in our beers, the front door opened. The bartender, previously focused only on her television and onion rings, jumped to her feet.

"NO! You cannot come in here!" she barked.

"Why not?!?," growled a gravely voice from behind us. "I have money, I want a drink!"

Slowly we turned around in our barstools to see a dirty, haggard man wearing absolutely nothing except a pair of tattered jeans. No shirt, no shoes, no socks.

"No, you have to have a shirt to be in here!" the bartender yelled. "It's the law!"

"I come in here shirtless all the time! The owner lets me!" he insisted.

"Well number 1 I don't believe you, and number 2 he's not here so I'm the law. Now get out!"

"Well I'll just go to any of these other bars down the street since you don't want my money," he threatened.

"Fine! Go right ahead! They'll all tell you the same thing!" Our bartender was now shouting at the top of her lungs.

"Well I don't give a fat f*ck!" he screamed.

"Fine! Now get the f*ck out of here!" she yelled back.

"I will! F*ck this place, you f*cking b*tch!". And with that, he surrendered and stormed out.

The bartender took a deep breath, looked at us, and said "I'm so sorry about that, guys."

"Oh no, don't worry about it," we said, "that was the highlight of our day!"

We all laughed and from that point on she warmed up to us.