Jonathan’s Big Night Out

I’m 21 years old, but I feel like in a lot of ways I’m sort of an old soul. I love a good episode of “Mama’s Family,” am oddly fascinated by the weather, relate all too well with the senior citizens that come by the pharmacy where I work, and still occasionally rock the sweater vest. I don’t apologize. Oh, and on the night of my 21st birthday I was, wait for it . . . at church. By choice. They were serving pizza.

I’m just not a big party person. I have plenty of good friends that are, but I find all of that to be just a little intimidating. Happy Hour at SONIC is where it’s at for me. But the other night, I got dragged into going downtown for a friend’s birthday party. Here is the story of Jonathan’s big night out: (aka how I ended up asleep on the table in a Waffle House at 3 AM)

My friend Brittany turned 22 recently and that weekend we went to Nashville to celebrate the occasion. There were about 6 of us that went out and, per her request, we all wore 1980′s-era attire. Some people went all out with their costumes. I just wore a “Reagan/Bush 1984″ shirt. Which, I actually wear on a normal basis anyway because I love it. Stop laughing.

The night started with a random bluegrass festival at the Nashville Renaissance Hotel. I knew then that this would be an interesting evening. There were people playing music all over that hotel. It was a circus. In the lobby, the elevator area of every floor, down the hallways of guest rooms– people were playing music everywhere. There was no safe refuge from the banjos. We were getting a lot of strange looks too because of the costumes in our group, which I thought was ironic because many of the people looking at us as if we were crazy had little to no teeth.

Then we left, and headed down Broadway in search of “Decades.” Apparently it’s a club that plays 80′s music.We found it, but they had gone out of business. At this point I suggested an alternative inside my comfort zone–  Sbarro’s Pizza and LaserQuest. Good, clean, Baptist fun, right? This idea was not well received. So we continued on in search of our next adventure, with me reaching in my back pocket to make sure my wallet was still there about every 10 seconds.

Fifteen minutes and three solicitations for money from panhandlers later, we ended up at a very classy establishment called “Ms. Kelly’s Karaoke” on Printer’s Alley (where people get stabbed). Shortly after getting there I realized, these are not my people. First off, I was getting a lot of flack for the Ronald Reagan shirt. Turns out, the middle-of-the-night, Nashville bar crowd are not Reagan fans. Who knew? I told my friend that the Reagan constituency was probably in bed by now so that they could arrive on time to church in the morning. Second of all, I don’t sing, drink, or dance, and those seem to be kinda like the 3 things that you do at a karaoke bar.I did, however, meet two very nice ladies named Melba and Shameica. They sang a duet of that “Money Money Money” song that plays at the beginning of every episode of The Apprentice . . . . then Melba threw up behind the pool table while Shameica held her hair. That’s true friendship ya’ll. It was kind of inspiring.

Anyway, 2 AM rolled and and after several hours of nervously sipping on my watered down Diet Coke, pretending to text on my phone, and cheering on the various intoxicated performers, my friends decided it was time to head out. I did not protest this decision. We were hungry though, so before going home we made a stop at the Waffle House.

I fell asleep at the table.

When I woke up, there was this gruff, heavily tattooed, angry looking lady in my face and I thought I was about to get mugged. Turns out it was just the waitress. Her name was Krystal, but I feel like a more fitting name would have been “Helga” or perhaps “Bertha.” Listen, I don’t judge and I don’t know this lady’s life but uh, she’s assaulted someone– or at the very least, pulled a girl’s weave out in a fit of rage– at least once. Let’s just be honest. Also, I’m going to have to assume that dental coverage is not part of her benefits package.

Anyway, Krystal/Helga/Bertha was handing out everybody’s food and I decided I wanted to order something too. In my tired state I, for some reason, asked for a double order of hashbrowns smothered, covered, and topped. If you frequent the Waffle House then, first of all you have terrible taste, but also you know what that means: I ordered hashbrowns with chilli, cheese and onions. Worst. Idea. Ever.  Why, oh why, did someone not stop me? There was an all out war raging within my digestive tract for like an entire day after that. Truly, my body still has not fully forgiven me.

By 4 AM I was home with major heartburn and absolutely exhausted. I’m thinking next time I’ll suggest dinner and a movie.