Down at the Bama Breeze

Back in January, when Hoya and Dane came to visit, they brought me a nice gift--a copy of Jimmy Buffet's latest CD, Take the Weather With You. I listened to it once, but at the time I was all about playing with my new iPod and moving music from my computer. So it sat in my truck for the past several weeks, and just a few days ago I popped it back in and listened to it while I was out running around doing my errands. It's a good collection of songs, not his best work by a long shot, but still, there are some great tunes included. The first track had me laughing though, the title of it is Bama Breeze, and it's a song about a bar.

Now, I have some experience with the Bama Breeze in Decatur, Alabama, although I don't know if there might be another one down on the Gulf Coast. I mean, really, who sings songs about Decatur? But let's pretend it was a tribute to the one I was familiar with, because the place burned down a couple years ago, according to Reverend Dave.

So let me tell you about the Bama Breeze. Several years ago, my sister Cyndi got remarried to a guy named David. I couldn't make it to their wedding, so consequently I never met the guy until after they were married. In fact, I didn't meet him until the weekend the Reverend Dave was getting married to his second wife, also.

So I took a little vacation time and flew out to Nashville, and my new brother-in-law David--who I just met for the first time that afternoon--and I drove down to Decatur to take Reverend Dave out for a bachelor party--the rest of the family was going to come down the next morning.

Well, there ain't a whole lot to do in Decatur Alabama, as anyone who has been there can attest. So instead of doing the usual weekend activity common to those parts, sitting on the porch with a six pack watching the bug zapper, or driving all the way back up to Elkton Tennessee to go to the Boobie Bungalow (the best strip club housed in a circus tent in all of Dixie!), we decided to compromise and just go have some beers at a local joint, the Bama Breeze.

It was your typical Southern dive bar, complete with University of Alabama football paraphernalia all over the walls, a small dance floor, and a stage in the corner for live music. Luckily there was a band playing that night, and they provided the entertainment with the expected repertoire of classic and hillbilly rock.

We were having a good time ordering Coronas and shots and laughing it up, but what made the evening complete was our total white-trash waitress. Apparently, we were the biggest tippers she'd seen in awhile, so she was johnny-on-the-spot with the refills. We were getting good and liquored up and she kept the drinks coming. And just listening to her complain about the other white-trash losers in the house made for good entertainment. Of course, once I had a few drinks in me, I wanted to introduce everyone to my brother David and my other brother David. In my state of mind, that was the highest of high comedy.

But the best laugh came when I got up to take a pee, and when I did, I bumped into the table next to us, knocking it over and spilling the unfortunate couple's drinks all over them and the dance floor. All the good reverend could say was "Dude--your ass!". My other brother David just sat there laughing hysterically because the first thing out of the waitresses mouth was "That was great--those fuckers come in here every week, drink water, and never tip!"

I stumbled off to the outhouse bathroom, and by the time I got back the mess was picked up and the Mexican guy with the mop was just finishing up on the dance floor.

Things calmed down a bit after that, and we were pretty well behaved for awhile, just sipping our beers and watching the band. The did a great cover of Steve Earle's Copperhead Road, but as a musician, I really appreciated their super-fast up-tempo version of Clapton's Wonderful Tonight, kinda like when Guy Patterson joined the O-needers and turned That Thing You Do from a sappy love ballad into danceable hit song.

Unfortunately, the more we drank, the more buffoonery we expected. Reverend Dave was getting good and plowed, and decided he wanted to go to a strip club. Unfortunately, there aren't many Gold Clubs in rural Alabama, and we were a good 50 miles from any respectable establishments.

So what does one do in that situation? Why, proposition the waitress of course!

Hey, how much it gonna cost us for you to take your shirt off?

Uh... I dunno... twenty bucks?

Score! That was easy. Maybe a little too easy, so I went for the discount...

How 'bout ten?

Ok. Gimme the money!

Brother-in-law David just sat there giggling and shaking his head, either amazed that we would be so audacious, or surprised that we could talk the waitress out of her clothes for just a Hamilton. Either way, it was a good laugh and Reverend Dave got to see a nekkid chick at his bachelor party. It was ten bucks well spent. Hell, we even gave her the other ten just because of her enthusiasm.

We couldn't top that, so after that show, David's bachelor party was pretty much over.

So that was my trip to the Bama Breeze--we never made it down there again, although we talked about it on several other occasions. Brother Jimmy would've been proud of us, and had he known about our antics, we might've even earned a verse or two in the song.

Word around the campfire was that our waitress got a new job over at the Waffle House after the bar burned down, so next time I'm down in Decatur visiting the Good Reverend, I'm bringing a ten-spot with me and we're gonna get scattered, smothered, and covered...

Because if seeing a topless Waffle House waitress is wrong, I don't wanna be right!

Mikey