Terri Weisberg is a tall woman, cresting six feet, with forearms to rival Rosie the Riveter. But it is Terri's calm demeanor, facility with mixology, and all-around 'tude that bring tranquility to the Flanigan's in Coconut Grove. Like the legend of the wind and the sun, Terri coaxes, never threatens, and so, for a sports bar where the shots are poured generously and passions for football, baseball, and sometimes the UPN comedy series Girlfriends run high, patrons are enthusiastic but rarely rowdy. Terri keeps the kind of bar where a girl can, in total seriousness, pull up solo to the counter to read Jonathan Safran Foer's Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, drink a syrupy sweet cup of turquoise Hypnotiq, and expect not only not to be bugged by the dudes on the premises but lauded for her ability to eat French fries, watch the Notre Dame game, read, and converse at the same time. That's just the kind of influence Terri has on the male species. But Terri wouldn't be the best bartender in a town awash in every type of beer, wine, and spirits ever envisioned by Bacchus himself unless she really knew how to mix it up. Go ahead, bring in your bartender's recipe book and see if you can stump Terri by calling for a purple eyeball on the beach or a soaking wet melon. Just be aware that when you receive a glass full of Jägermeister, peach schnapps, and Old Bushmills, you're going to pay for it. Until recently Terri had a head of commandingly long coal-black hair stretching unfettered past her waist. One day Terri showed up for work, a charming bob tucked beneath her Flanigan's visor. She had had her lovely mane lopped off, all nineteen inches of it, and donated the hair to make wigs for children undergoing chemotherapy. You really need to drink to that.
