Imagine, if you will, Jack Sparrow without his facial hair and his beloved hat. Picture him instead with a face scrubbed clean and wearing a proper ruffled shirt with nary a stain. That’s the difference between the old Pirates Bight Beach Bar and the new one.
A perfectly good watering hole has been ruined. In its former blowzy condition, the Pirates Bar was a cross between a sports bar and a beach bar. Colorful T-shirts and flags from around the world hung from the ceiling and patrons scrawled their names on the wooden beams. Cigar smoke wafted in from the small patio and mixed with the smell of fresh-cooked French fries. The scruff behind the bar wore his tattoos like a siren song, urging a fix on his forearms and biceps, and he swiveled his iPod around to exactly the song you wanted to hear while raising a rum punch to your lips. Then he’d set a cold longneck on the floor behind the bar, hand you a fishing pole with a ring on it and dare you to pick up the beer and set it on the bar in one motion. If you did, it was yours. Free.
The current incarnation of the Pirates Bar is clean and sanitized. The walls and ceiling have been stripped of their decoration and their character. Bright yellow smiley-face paint greets patrons from the beach which also has been scrubbed. There are no cigarette butts, no bottle caps, no children screaming at the waves lapping at their feet. A groomed young man wearing a collared shirt now tends the beer and drinks.
The Pirates Bar has gone Buckhead.