Some will probably wonder why on earth the "Closed for Busineness" sign at The Ranch was such an incredible bummer. After all, it was just a ratty little dive and a temporary diversion from the hectic pace of real life. The person who made the sign couldn't even spell business, for pete's sake.
Perhaps the lack of warning made the sign more shocking. The owner never said a word and we were caught by surprise. How dare he steal my Friday afternoons without consulting me? Where was everyone? How would I find out how Nancy was doing? Who would torture Sammy? KD was out there somewhere giving my shoulder massage to someone else and at the pinnacle of my singing career the plug was pulled on the band.
Last Friday Mr. G asked if I wanted to go with him. O from work had told him about a place called the TrainWreck. The name captures the whole experience. It was a huge club, with flashing neon lights, a dance floor with a disco ball, and the jukebox blared so loudly it was impossible to carry on a conversation.
No worn wooden floors and plywood walls here. The walls were lined with mirrors and wall to wall carpeting covered the cavernous, blinking, pounding space. Yuck. To make matters worse, the only Ranch Regular at the TrainWreck was Martha, the bartender, who'd closed The Ranch down and drawn the closed sign.
Martha was not one single beer short a 12-pack when we arrived. She rushed over and embraced me like I was her long lost sister, separated by tragedy in childhood. Now that I'd been found alive and unharmed, she attempted to render me deaf by screaming in my ear "This Sucks!!!" for approximately 30 minutes. Since that pretty much covered my sentiments, I just nodded.
Needless to say, our departure was speedy.
This Wednesday Mr. G suggested we just drive by the TrainWreck to see if we recognized anyone's truck. When we did, we unenthusiastically ventured inside. Over in the far corner, as far away from the mirrors, neon, jukebox, and strangers as possible, sat a large group of people. A row of tables had been lined up together beside the dark, unlit dance floor right in front of the Golden Tee golf machine and Curtis yelled, "Lana! We're over here!!"
After I patiently explained to Curtis for the umpteenth time that the mullet was so incredibly over, he and Eve, she of the 1,001 piercings, had a jolly time making fun of my new and wavy hairdo. By then the golf game was over and we all settled in for a rowdy and hilarious discussion about what's wrong with the youth of America and growing up in the country.
Although Sammy and Charlie weren't there, it was still fun.
While I was working on bookkeeping and payroll Friday morning, the phone rang. "Lana, it's Sammy. Where are we going anyway??"
I was still chuckling an hour later when the phone rang again. "Lana, it's Dave. Where IS everybody??"
Now if I can only talk the TrainWreck manager into having live music on Friday afternoons................
Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot.
Wouldn't you like to get away?
Sometimes you want to go
Where everybody knows your name,
And they're always glad you came.
You wanna be where you can see,
Our troubles are all the same
You wanna be where everybody knows your name.
Eve here, one with the 1,001 piercings...LMAO.
and I was not even makin fun of your hair !!
This is great Lana, wish I had known about your site earlier.
Time to read on. !!!
from the Evil One
Posted by: Eve | June 03, 2004 at 11:10 AM