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The pow-wow was at the local salmon bar, and we were gettin' our food courtesy of the ol' academic stomping-grounds. The drinks, as always, were on us. In between one of those stories about using a paycheck to get drunk to get through class, this one orders a Gibson. The verbal transaction went off without a hitch: no questioning look on the pen-wielder's face, which is not typical for this drink. Normally I get a "What's that" and have to explain. I get the glass with alacrity, and take a sip that quickly turns to consternation. Another one, just for confirmation, and I find that the bar sent the cocktail equivalent of a fly in the soup: vodka, strangling the life out of the poor cocktail onions. I sent it back. Who the fuck makes a Gibson with Vodka?
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