Four old retired guys are ambling down a quiet street in Cooktown. Think it’s just another lazy afternoon? Think again.
They round a corner and are greeted by a sign so dazzlingly promising, it could revive the dead. What did our retirees see? Brace yourselves: ‘Old Timer’s Bar – All drinks 10 cents.’
Yep, you read that right. Pinch yourself if you must.
Our fab four gawk at each other, their collective thought bubble reading something like, “Is this real life?” Dollar signs practically light up their eyes as they stroll into the bar, hearts pounding with the thrill of a too-good-to-be-true bargain.
As they step inside, the bartender’s voice booms across the room, echoing like a siren call. “Come on in and let me pour one for you! What’ll it be, Gentlemen?”
Scanning the well-stocked bar, each man orders the epitome of sophistication—a martini. Stirred, shaken, whatever, as long as it’s in a chilled glass, baby.
The bartender, slick as a cat, deftly prepares their martinis—shaken, not stirred, because that’s just how cool kids (and retirees) roll. “That’ll be 10 cents each, please,” he declares.
Wait, hold up. Did he just say 10 cents?
Our quartet blinks, looks at each other again as if searching for hidden cameras in a reality show stunt. But nope, this is the real deal. They plunk down their 40 cents, mentally calculating the price of their grandkids’ next inheritance with all the savings they’re about to make.
After slamming back their glorious martinis, those bad boys go in for round two. Same drill: exquisite martinis, same incredibly low price. Total tab? Another 40 cents. At this point, curiosity is gnawing at them like an itch they can’t scratch. They’ve spent less than a buck each and are already tipsy with disbelief.
Finally, one brave soul among them musters up the courage to ask the million-dollar—no, scratch that—the 10-cent question. “How can you afford to serve martinis as good as these for 10 cents each?”
With a twinkle in his eye and a story waiting to burst out, the bartender leans in. “I’m a retired tailor from Sydney,” he begins. “Always dreamed of owning a bar. Then, last year, I hit the Lottery for $25 million and said, ‘Why not?’ So here I am. For every drink, wine, liquor, beer—you name it—it’s a flat 10 cents.”
Mic drop. Our retirees are reeling. Not just from the booze, but from the sheer awesomeness of this legend they have stumbled upon.
As they sip their martinis, feeling the glow of both the alcohol and their good fortune, they notice a curious sight: seven other people perched at the end of the bar, like statues. Not a single drink fronts their bored faces.
One of the men can’t help himself and gestures towards the silent seven, eyes squinted in puzzled inquiry. “What’s with them?”
The bartender, now brimming with humor, answers with a smirk. “Oh, they’re all waiting for happy hour when drinks are half price!”
The lesson here? Sometimes, even free is too expensive if it means waiting for happiness a minute longer than you have to. Cheers to finding joy in the moment, one 10-cent martini at a time.
