I’ve never really been into the bar scene. That is, the “bar scene” not the “club scene”. For me, there was always a difference. A bar is where you go to drink and a club is where you go to dance – because you can drink at home.
I started going to clubs when I was seventeen years old. Me and my girlfriends would get dressed up in our tightest jeans or shortest skirts and head across the bridge to a place called Rhanna Pippins. Pippins had a huge dance floor and for some reason there were giant ceramic frogs on the perimeter ... weird. The drinking age at the time was not quite 21 and club managers always saw the benefit in allowing entry to young, cute girls when you lived in a military town. In other words, we never had fake i.d.’s and we never had a problem getting in. At 17 years old, we were not ordering drinks we were just going to dance and meet boys. I can’t really remember where I told my mother I was going … but there was no way in hell I said, “Mom, I’m going to Pippins with the girls – see you later!” Mmmmm, I’ll have to check the old journals to remember what lies I was telling her back then.
Anyway, when I entered my twenties clubbing was still about hooking up with men and less about drinking. We always seemed to get our drink on at the house before we went out. We would buy cheap vodka and make screwdrivers (with orange juice) or cape cods (with cranberry juice). I never really understood going to a bar for the sole purpose of sitting down and ordering a drink.
Once I had my son, the effort it took to find a babysitter became too tiresome and it was just easier to stay home. The club scene became routine and boring to me. I love music and I love to dance but the effort it took to get there just wasn’t worth it to me. I think I tried to re-enter the world of clubs after my divorce five years ago and found it to be laughable. It was funny to me because I saw people my age acting like I was acting twenty years ago. It was almost as if time had stood still inside the clubs. Men standing against the wall or at the bar, women sitting at the tables dancing in their seats. I have not been back since.
Well, almost three years ago I found myself reluctantly in the middle of the bar scene. B is a guitar player and I would often go out to hear his band play. It was fun and very different than the club scene. First of all, the patrons of these bars are predominantly white. Secondly, they come out for the sole purpose of drinking – and boy can they drink. If you’ve ever seen a large group of drunken white people you know what I mean. I would always get a table as close to the band as I could and maybe have a glass of wine. Watching the people was almost as entertaining as watching the band.
Soon I began to sing with the band and eventually B and I formed an acoustic duo and I would join him on vocals. It’s something I had never done before but it’s fun and it’s a great way to make some easy shoe money.
Over the past two years or so I have been approached by more drunk white people than I can count. They are a very friendly bunch to say the least. I get quite a few compliments, which is nice but I find it even more interesting when they approach me on a break and have these long ass conversations with me like we know each other. I’ve had men tell me all about the problems they are having with their wives. I’ve had women tell me “I’m not a racist I just never grew up around Black people.” Okay. I remember once this redneck came to my table and told me he liked my voice. I said thank you. Then he said, “I had a Black girl fall in love with me once … yup, down in Tennessee.” Then he got this glazed look in his eyes and he got up and walked away. Alrighty then…
I have successfully (if you can call it that) made the transition from the club scene to the bar scene. While I usually only go when I’m singing, sometimes my sister and I will stop at the neighborhood bar after dance class on Thursday nights. We’ll order a couple of cosmos and sit and talk. Times have definitely changed. We were singing at Ga.t.or’s last night … it was a mixed crowd, mostly white folks watching the playoffs and only semi listening to us. I usually get their attention when I sang, “G.i.m.m.e O.n.e Re.a.s.o.n by T.r.a.c.y. C.h.a.p.m.a.n. I love that song. When it ended they went back to watching the game.
Good times … and a great way to pick up some extra shoe money.
