The Old Tyme bar:
A roughhewn wood plank bar bespeaks tales of Old West territories. It's almost as if one might hear the neighing of wild mustangs, the shots of gunfire or a wild Native American battle cry were one to put an ear to its worn facade. A grainy face pitted by cigar and cigarette burns has silently stood testament to the people who have lived in this untamed country for more than two centuries.
A table in darkness:
This table is placed quite a ways from the main thoroughfare for staff and patrons. The overhead lighting is out, and the management never seems to ameliorate it. Its shadowy, secretive ambiance has become a part of the cozy Cantina atmosphere, and the table is highly desired seating.
The table with a flickering candle:
Aesthetically speaking, this is the most handsome of the tables in the establishment -- a quaint dining set handcrafted by Mexican artisans either today or perhaps 150 years ago. It is lovingly painted with whitewash florals along the table's surface and about the straw-wicker and pine chairs.
A medium-sized booth
A plain booth, slightly out-of-place with the rest of the decor, has synthetic leather seats and a cowboy hat and rope stencil on the quasi-oak table. A big ceramic Stetson stuffed to the brim with broken and mangled crayons sits atop a stack of photocopies. On closer inspection of the pages, one sees an image of a black and white cartoonish rendition of the Cantina's exterior. Each sheet also proclaims that cowpokes and cowgirls under age 12 can enter a coloring contest for a free meal for a family of four.
A round table once scorched by lightning:
A wagon wheel marred by Mother Nature's fury has been made into a table ready to seat a large party. Tempered plastic covers the spokes, dulled and scratched by years of use. Luxurious cushioned and armed seats circle the West's answer to the Round Table.
The table that smells like Pine Sol:
There is nothing out of the ordinary about this table. In fact, it blends perfectly with the rest of the tacky tourist version of a Mexican border town chic that dictates the restaurant's decor. However, the longer one sits here, one cannot help but begin to notice a strong artificial pine scent that seems to grow stronger by the minute.
A table stage left:
A small wooden table pinned against the side of the stage. Sure, the flimsy metal chairs may be some of the best seats in the house, but its occupants are the first, and most likely, to be doused with fluids or hit by projectiles from the performers or fervent groupies.
A table stage right:
A small wooden table pinned against the side of the stage. Sure, the flimsy metal chairs may be some of the best seats in the house, but its occupants are the first, and most likely, to be doused with fluids or hit by projectiles from the performers or fervent groupies.
A romantic table in the corner:
"Hello young lovers whoever you are. . ." Can't you just hear old Blue Eyes himself crooning as you take your seat in the plush comfort of a genuine imitation suede covered chair built for dos? Waitstaff is sure to 'accidentally' avoid coming to this spot for inamoratos... a reasonable exchange for most patrons who sacrifice service in the pursuit of romance.
The Cantina's very own stage:
If one has ended up on the Cantina's less than famous stage, then they've either got a large karmic debt to pay off or are in brutal training to join one of the world's elite Mariachi bands. It's a cramped, awkward space, obviously designed by someone who had no practical knowledge of performing publicly. The lighting and sound systems are contemporary; the former is mainly hindered by its garish selection of bright and highly 'fake' theatrical array of gels.
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