“Myrtling” with T-Bone and the Jersey Guys
Until Covid threw a monkey wrench into our plans, a few of us Jersey transplants to the Southeast would convene regularly over beers to reminisce, shoot the breeze and set the world right again.
So after a too-long hiatus, we decided to gather at Myrtle Beach, SC, where preparations for a bike week that may or may not happen can make navigation somewhat tricky, even for the two guys who reside there.
Our initial meetup point was at another place on the beach, but as we were the only people in the usually popular place, and it wasn't air-conditioned, we didn’t stay long. That it’s beer list was extremely limited unless you were a fan of “canoe beers” aided in our decision to explore.
Fortunately, it was a short walk up to a place that was more to our liking—and had A/C. That place was called the 8th Avenue Tiki Bar and Grill, and its beer list and atmosphere were much more preferable.
Joined on this visit by Dave, another NJ transplant and a neighbor in OIB, the four of us sat down at a table to enjoy the afternoon. And apart from the beers and the chatter, we were also able to meet some delightful folks who had traveled all the way from Wisconsin on their honeymoon.
Andy and Bobbie (above) were friendly, engaging and clearly in love, and we enjoyed the time we shared with them. We told each other stories of our lives, pasts and presents and plans. Bobbie even gave our buddy Ty a new nickname—T-Bone—and I suspect that’s one that will stick.
They were consuming a Tiki bar drink in a ceramic pineapple called “Drunk Punch,” a conglomeration of spirits and juice that seemed to be a popular choice among other patrons. We, on the other hand, reveled in the excellent beer selection, and had we not already eaten, the food offered by the place certainly looked enticing. Next time, for sure.
What was special about the meeting, however, was the fact that neither they nor we were consumed by our smartphones and chose to engage in person. It was to our advantage that we did, and for the life of me, I can’t understand why (other than for taking pictures like the ones enclosed here) anyone would come to a pub and bury themselves in a smartphone, eschewing actual conversation with others. But to each his own, I guess.
All I know is had we done that, we would have missed out on meeting some very special folks, including the owner of the place who graciously bought us a round of beers and Reid, our server who tended to our needs with dedication.
The place wasn’t packed (in these times, few are), but that suited us fine. And by the time we left we were on “hugging terms” with our new friends. We wished them a safe journey back to the Cheesehead State (which sounds better than the “Mitten State”) and a safe adventure in parasailing, which they would do prior to heading home.
