Dateline: All Over, All The Time

I just realized that I haven't posted anything in nearly three weeks. I've been slacking. Actually it's been a relatively dull last few weeks and not a whole lot of excitement on the road. Therefore I'd like to hearken back to a prior post regarding a freak bartender in Alabama and his obsession with Bret Michaels. If you don't remember the story, just scroll down and read the details. A week and a half ago I happen to walk into this same establishment for a beer and some food. And before I can even sit down this guy walks up to me. Instead of asking me what I want to drink from the bar, he asks me,

"Hey man, guess what we're talking about?" - Freak Bartender

" I don't know. Why don't you fill me in." - Me

"We're talking about what we're going as for Halloween. What you dressing up as?" - Freak

" John Wayne Gacy." - Me

"Really? Didn't me murder and sexually molest kids?" - Freak

" Not that I know of. I thought he was a famous clown. Like Marcel Marceau. What are you going as, boss?" - Me

"I'm going as Bret Michaels." - Freak

No shit. Didn't see that one coming. I'm not really going as John Wayne Gacy. I just wanted to scare this freak off. Too bad it didn't work. Once again he broke out his Bret Michaels photo album and started showing all his pictures again. Can't make this stuff up, boys and girls. Read the back story to this below for background. Enjoy your day.

Dateline: Last Tuesday, Birmingham, AL

This hotel I'm staying at is great. The nicest one thus far. Probably because it's not the economy version, but the real live thing. I'm not a huge fan of the neighborhood it's in (Read into this what you will), but it has a legitimate restaurant, bar and more than 3 floors. In fact, seeing as that I'm a Platinum Member of this specific chain I get some perks. At this hotel I get a free drink at the bar, peanuts, water and a King sized suite on the Ninth Floor. Or as in the words of the concierge, "The Ambassador Level." God bless hotel people and their fancy fucking words. I'm not actually sure what separates a suite on the 'Ambassador Level' versus one on the 1st floor other than nine flights of stairs I have to run down in case someone pulls the fire alarm. But I digress. This place also has a full fledged gym allowing me to get in my 30 minutes of daily cardio. This gym in particular has glass windows that peer out onto the pool area. This is prime people watching real estate, boys and girls. As I was hitting the treadmill, there was a man, mid 50's I'd say, swimming by himself. Correction: swimming and talking to himself. I first thought that I couldn't help but wonder what exactly he was saying, but I'm assuming he was repeating a bird call that was designed for small children. And while I'm not a parent, I do possess some protective qualities and a level of common sense that picks out weirdos and degenerates upon sight. After repeating what appeared to be the entire Old Testament, this guys gets out of the pool and proceeds to dry himself for no less than 15 minutes. How long does it take one to dry themselves off? At this point I'm thinking to myself, "This guy is definitely cruising and he's probably cruising for me. Maybe I should have worn a baggier shirt. Hell--Maybe I should have worn a burlap sack." Listen, I don't know what this guys deal was, but it was definitely strange. Where's Chris Hansen when you need him?

Dateline: Friday August 27th, East Tennessee

Do you play the lottery? If your answer is 'No' that's probably because your household income is above $30,000. If you answered yes you either: A) Are poor or B) a degenerate gambler. Look, I'm Irish so I kinda believe in luck, but only on the golf course, not at the Quik Mart. last Friday I was coming from an appointment when I stopped at a rural gas station for a bottled water and some Combos (the Cheddar Cheese and Pretzel kind, not the cracker shell. Those...are horrible). Normally this transaction takes place in roughly 30 seconds. Oh not today! On this day I had to stand behind some local that spent no less than $150 in scratch offs. He kept walking around the counter contemplating whether to play 'Tennessee River $50' or 'Monopoly Money Tic Tac Toe'. Listen pal, I don't care if you drop all your Social Security money on such a worthless endeavour, but please get the hell out of my way so I can for my Dasani. And he kept asking the attendant, "What's hittin' today, lady?" and "What's hot?" Like she knows. This lady is far more concerned with reading her Penny Saver and counting the packs of Marlboro's to help you. And furthermore, don't you think if she knew what was "hot" and "hittin'" she'd tear a role off about a mile long, scratch off $40,000 in winnings and walk right out the damn door? I guess common courtesy and random odds were lost of this gentleman. I looked it up, the odds of winning a state lottery are a cool 18 million to 1. And chances are the winning ticket isn't stashed in a BP in La Follete, TN. You'd be better served taking that extra cash and, I don't know, paying your past due child support or buying a few teeth.

Dateline: Numerous Occasions, Anywhere USA

Those of you who know me best know that I'm not a fan of Mexican food. To me, regardless of the location, it all tastes the same. It's all cooked the same, the menus are identical and its all covered in fried cheese and grease. However, that doesn't stop me from crushing half a pallet of chips and salsa every time I sit down. Mexican restaurants are plagued by a seemingly avoidable issue: Market saturation. Simply put, within any 20 mile radius there are as many as 50 Mexican joints. People say they love Mexican because it's cheap and fast, but that's just because Mexican joint 'A' is hell bent on getting you your Speedy Gonzalez Lunch Special 15 seconds faster than Mexican joint B, C, D, etc. Too many of one business in a given area equals to undercutting of prices and thus quality. There you go folks, your Econ 101 lesson for the day. I would gladly pay upwards of $12 for a burrito if I knew that: A) the beef was above D grade quality and B) It hadn't been sitting in a microwave for the past week and a half. Seriously, think about how many Mexican restaurants are within a 5 minute drive of your house. I can count 4 in my neighborhood alone. And furthermore, I really believe that Mexican restaurants have one CD that they play on a continuous loop. You can drive from place to place and the music they're pumping in sounds exactly the same as it did at the other eatery. Horns, mariachis, repeated use of the word 'corazon'. It's like a Muzak CD mated with a Don Quixote book on tape and played on repeat. For my money I'd gladly take a Taco Bell burrito from the drive through and listen to Led Zepplin on my iPod, but I feel like I'm in the vast minority here. Thoughts?

Dateline: Thursday, Tennessee to Alabama and Back

If you were to look at my schedule you'd see there's not really an entire week where I sleep in my own bed every night. Usually one to two nights out of the week I'm on the road. This week was an exception. I have slept in my own bed for 9 consecutive nights, a record since I started my job. It was a nice feeling, but that doesn't mean I didn't travel. On Thursday I made the trip from Nashville to Birmingham and back. I put well over 400 miles on my car. I was exhausted and by 8:30 I was asleep. However, in true form, I was back up at 11pm when my wife came home from her Book Club as we sat down, caught up and had a beer. Anyway, Birmingham was uneventful. Typical day, nothing too earth shattering. Well- I almost got rear ended by a cop in downtown Birmingham, only to look in my rear view and see him texting while driving (I should have made a citizens arrest). But seeing as it's almost fall in the South, football is everywhere you go. I spent the entire day listening to 690AM The Fan in Birmingham. You know how I know there is a God? Irrational Alabama Football Fans. God wants us to be happy and amused at all times, and these out of work, drunken hillbillies are pure comedy gold. Now, these irrational fans exist everywhere (Tennessee included), but Alabama fans or 'Bammers' as their affectionately known, take the cake. Where else can you hear the drunken ramblings of Gene in Rainbow City at 2:30 in the afternoon on a Thursday? Alabama Sports radio. And where can you hear about Nick Saban's latest bowel movement and how it may effect their blitzing strategy against Penn State? Alabama Sports radio. Ask any irrational Alabama football fan what they would rather see: An end to World Hunger, AIDS and war in one day or a DVD tribute to the Alabama Million Dollar Marching Band and 100 out of 100 are cuing up the Surround Sound. Listen-- This isn't sour grapes, either. I know Tennessee sucks and we're in a down period. And I respect Nick Saban and the winning tradition at Alabama. However, a gathering of some perspective may need to be in order.

Dateline: Mid-July , Central Alabma

Like I mentioned in a previous post, I like to sit at the bar while dining on the road. This trip to a local Chilis was no exception. I made my way in, a UFC fight was on TV and they were running a draft beer special...shaping up to be a solid night. That is until the bartender came sauntering around the corner to greet me. First and foremost, he was wearing eyeliner. Secondly, he wore the exact same pair of jeans my wife had on Friday night. A different cat to be sure. Regardless of that, he was doing a relatively good job and pretty much left me alone. Speaking of cats- a couple of cougars walked in an settled in down the bar from me. Seems as if these women also happened to be hairdressers. Within five minutes, the bartender and his harem of hairdressers were yucking it up at the end of the bar exchanging highlighting tips and what not. As the conversation continued and the women continued to get drunker, people started staring and whispering. At this point the bartender turns around to the entire bar and yells, " I know what y'all are thinking. But I am not gay. I sleep with plenty of women." Sure, pal. Whatever you say...I'm not here to judge. Then one of the women tells him he happens to look a lot like Bret Michaels and truth be told I could see the resemblance. That's when the bartender started thumbing through a photo album he had compiled over the last two years as a Bret Michaels impersonator. Picture upon picture of this cat dressed like the former lead singer of Poison. There he was in all his Bret Michael-esque glory...blonde wig, bandanna to cover male pattern baldness, cowboy hat, Ed Hardy shirt and rhinestone jeans. He proceeds to tell the entire bar how he travels the country while Bret's on tour doing impersonations of him outside of his shows. Well, buddy you may or may not be a homosexual, but you are for certain the strangest person I've ever met in my entire life.

Dateline: Last February, Corbin, KY

I had to go back in the vault for this one. Kentucky, in my humble opinion, is known for three things: Horses, whiskey and bad cell phone service. (Honorable Mention: Kentucky basketball) I made my first foray into the Commonwealth last February to work with a new distributor. Seeing as I had driven through KY many times on my way to Knoxville I assumed I would get to Corbin without incident. Well, was I ever wrong. First off--it snowed...a lot. Then my GPS decided to defy logic and take me down every dirt country road and back channel in the state. A 3 hour drive turned into a 4-1/2 nightmare. No problem though. I'll just get to my hotel, check in and grab a six pack to calm my nerves. A great idea in theory, but Corbin, KY sits in a dry county. Asking me to go a night in a hotel without booze would be like asking a dog to sit next to a piece of raw meet for a month without licking it. This is a roundabout way of saying it is virtually impossible. However, I persevered and stuck to Diet Cokes for the evening. The next day after I had finished my calls, I was determined to procure some alcohol. Therefore I stared driving north. I figured the closer I got to Lexington to more my chances increased of finding a booze store. Once again, I was wrong. After driving nearly 40 miles north I found that every county surrounding Corbin adopting its mantra of being alcohol free. When I finally decided to give up at the BP of exit 67 I finally asked the attendant, "Seriously, where in the hell can I find a cold beer?" "Tennessee" she responded and went right back to scratching lottery tickets. As I turned around to my return to my car defeated I noticed a young boy, no older than 10 playing video poker sitting next to his mother, who happened to be sucking on a menthol 120. Mind you it was 2pm on a Tuesday. I returned to the nice gas station attendant and said, "Wait a second. I can't get a six pack of O'Douls in this state, but Rain Man and Mother of The Year over there can blow their food stamps on Nintendo before the end of business day?" You would have thought I asked her to write out the Pythagorean Theorem she looked so confused. Moral of the Story: If ever traveling through the Cumberland Gap, always bring your own booze.