The Lighter Side of the Moon

1/5 Stars

When Sun ‘n’ Sand opened last year, I was excited about having a bar right on the beach in West Palm. I went on my day off on Saturday and this was my experience:

I showed up around 6, and found a seat at the bar. The place had a stale odor, like a combo of low tide and spray tanner. I waited patiently for a waitress, but none came to take my order. I decided to pass the time by making small talk with the other customers; this proved one of the gravest decisions I’ve ever made. I tried to start a conversation with the woman to my left. She proceeded to explain to me how she had purchased a swimsuit that was three sizes too small, but kept it anyway because it showcased her “lovely lady lumps”. I immediately turned away, but she rambled on, explaining how one lump was suspicious and required medical attention. I moved to a different seat when she asked if I had any odd lumps or bumps that she could see.

I stood up to find the manager so I could ask for a beverage, but he was nowhere to be found. I saw what appeared to be the owner singing a Celine Dion medley into a beer can, intermittently shouting that he was the “Karaoke King”. His inebriation became obvious when he attempted to moonwalk and tumbled backwards, smashing his head into a stormdrain. He did not get up immediately, but I did not go to his rescue because I figured his loss might be better for the human race as a whole in the long run. The owner’s drinking buddy, an elderly man in an ill-fitting leprechaun costume (I went to the bar in early February) laughed so hard at his friend’s fall that he spilled his piña colada in his beard. Instead of cleaning himself up, the man climbed on the bar and urged all other patrons to lick the beverage from his facial hair. The only person to take him up on the offer was the owner, who at this point inexplicably rose from his drunken stupor to drink a watery piña colada from his friend’s whiskers. Between the noisy slurps, the owner announced his official change in title from “Karaoke King” to “The Human Beard Vacuum”. At that point, the owner slipped again, marking his second spectacular tumble in under an hour, and resumed his position slumped against the wall.

As I made my way towards the exit, a man who I presumed to be the manager grabbed me by the arm and urged me to have a bite to eat on the house. I imagine the manager was hoping to avoid receiving negative feedback on the internet. Thinking that the bar couldn’t possibly make a worse impression, I reluctantly agreed to try some grub. After a cursory glance at the menu, I settled on the Zesty Tropical Chili. The food arrived thirty-five minutes later, although the time passed quickly to the tune of a surprisingly accurate version of Cats, with lump lady and the leprechaun guy assuming the lead roles. The chili came tepid, and its odorous nature literally made my eyes water. I stirred the contents, where upon I discovered a large mass floating in my soup. I scooped it out, and found it out to be a black du-rag, with the word “spicy” bedazzled on. With so much time already invested in the Sun ‘n’ Sand Tiki Bar, I almost felt it would have all been for nothing had I not even tried the food. Needless to say, I couldn’t actually bring myself to taste an iota of the stuff.

Lacking the heart to tell the manager about the du-rag or any other facet of my experience, so I simply left, never looking back. I immediately set a course for the local clinic, where I had a smattering of medical tests performed to isolate any diseases I may have picked up during my stay, and I encourage all prior customers of the Sun ‘n’ Sand to do the same. In summation, the worst bar I’ve ever seen. It is an embarrassment to the management, the West Palm Beach health department, and the entire state of Florida.

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