“What’s your name again?” the old guy said, as he’s said every Friday for the three plus years I’ve worked at this place. “How’s Emily, that other girl who worked with you? She’s so nice, I kept telling her if only she was twenty years older, she could’ve married one of my sons.”
“Uh huh,” I say through gritted teeth, the bar towel clenched in my hand. “Oh, there’s another customer who needs my help down there!” I say, and head to the other end of the bar to keep myself from smashing a pint glass and grinding the jagged edge into the old guy’s neck.
The old guy is so boring, if he recovered from my attack, I’m 100% sure he’d be putting people on bar stools to sleep with the story in no time:
“And then she came at me, I can’t remember what her name was, but it reminded me of the time I used to live in Hawaii, did I tell you about that yet? Well you see, back when I was in the navy, before I worked for the post office…”
Yes, it’s time I took a break from this place. I’m headed to Nashville for a few days. I don’t even have a big plan, aside from seeing the Johnny Cash/Bob Dylan exhibit at the Country Music Hall of Fame & Museum, and tagging along on my friend Bill DeMain’s Nashville walking tour. I’m sure I’ll hear some music, and eat something fried.
And Eric’s Nashville show, I’ll be there for that and to make the long drive back home with him.
This is the first time I’ve gone to Nashville without a guitar. It feels weird, but free. I almost feel like a normal person. It reminds me of that time I stopped at a Cracker Barrel, and they were piping old country music into the rest rooms, and I went and bought some of those striped pieces of hard candy in a paper sack…
Hello, hey wait – where’s everyone going?