Cecil at DollyWood
Pigeon Forge, Tennessee is one of the most commercialized—and tourist-minded—cities in the entire state. It houses numerous avenues of quick fun and entertainment, and is the kind of place where Cecil would never go, if he had any choice. Nevertheless, Pidgeon Forge is where he found himself on this hot summer night. As is tradition, he made his way to a local bar.
The Gentle Giant is a well-kept and constantly evolving bar. Although the consistent flow of tourist patrons allow the establishment to turn a healthy profit, one would be surprised to see how much of that money goes back into redefining the bar—menus, staff, appearance, and everything in between. For the Gentle Giant, image is everything.
Unhappy with the prospect, but committed to keeping his tradition alive, Cecil entered the Giant, making his way past the crowded floor and to the bar, where he sat down and asked for the most popular drink that the establishment served.
As Cecil made his request, the bartender was pulled away by a single, loud, college-aged woman, ordering drinks for her entire group of friends. As the barkeep moved to her position, Cecil was unable to hear her order over the loud screams of the other patrons. As was established by the que of orders, the bartender mixed Cecil’s drink next.
The bartender quickly grabbed a tall glass, to house the drink. He was constantly under pressure, and even though he liked Cecil, he still had to move quickly.
The Jack Daniels was readily available at this bar especially, so the barkeep poured some of the smooth and stiff beverage into the glass.
Next, he grabbed an unopened sour mix, and poured it into the glass, stirring it slightly with the whiskey.
After that came the triple sec—this was poured quickly, with little care.
And finally, a liberal portion of lemon-lime soda—even for the drink—entered the glass. After some ice that probably should have been added sooner was placed in the glass, and a final stir was given, the drink was delivered to Cecil.
He wasn’t enamored with the Lynchburg Lemonade, or its mix, but Cecil still drank it. Once again, this was about tradition.
He attempted to ask the bartender about the college girl, but he didn’t hear Cecil’s dialogue—or at least he acted as though he didn’t.
Cecil saw the girl take six glasses of what was clearly champagne back to her table of friends, however. Two of them spilled their champagne, and another wasn’t very interested. The last two, besides the college girl, downed the expensive drinks without thought. The college-aged girl’s face showed her frustration with the situation.
“That girl needs to get out of there quick—that group is going nowhere fast” said Cecil, as the girl returned to the bar to place another order. “That group of friends will keep bringing her down until it’s too late” he said. “If there was any hope of her getting out, she’d have left right now” he concluded. His observation couldn’t have been different, given the environment. This was commonplace.
Unhappy with the experience, but excited that it was done with, Cecil left the Gentle Giant and took off in his Lincoln Continental—eager to leave Pidgeon Forge behind.
