I’d like to take this opportunity to thank the Summers staff for being so well-trained. Maybe I should be thanking Joe Daddy for training them, but I’m not sure how much he really had to do with it. So, the staff gets the credit. Now before you spit out your dirty beer in shock and disgust, allow me to explain. Friday night, a couple friends and I found ourselves carousing down Clarendon Boulevard with a pocketful of stinky pinky sunshine and, embarrassingly enough, no proper device to bring the party to the people. Since girls don’t generally carry knives, the old hippie standby of carving something out of a fruit or vegetable was right out, as was poking holes in a bent-up can. Besides, we also didn’t have fruit, vegetables, or a can. And even if we had, that’s a lot of work. Then, in a mighty flash the solution presented itself: Aluminum foil. But what kind of place would hand out aluminum foil immediately upon request, no-questions-asked, to someone who just walked in off the street and didn’t even sit down or pretend to be a customer? Summers, that’s what kind of place. It worked out perfectly because at 9:30 on a Friday night, the only people in the new RedRum were the Karaoke Idiot (beltless), his Four Lonely Microphones, half a dozen colored Strobe Lights, a Disco Ball, and two teenagers sucking face at a back table. And then there was Mya, standing attentively behind the bar, empty glasses at the ready, just in case a tour bus dropped by. I flagged her down with a grin and politely asked for some foil. She sprung straight up like a kindergartener at a fire drill, (“Sure! No Problem! Okay! Sure! Be Right Back!”), and in 10 seconds returned to regale me with enough foil to wrap a 15-pound turkey. Now that’s service! I thanked her sincerely and bounded back out into the street, where I can now thank the dark woods behind Colonial Village for providing the other necessity of our evening’s interlude.