So thus far, I've outlined my bad dating experiences in Massachusetts and Florida. I have lived in 9 states in my "adult" life. Does that mean my bad dating experiences have gone cross country with me? You betcha!
In the late 90's, I found myself living for a short while in a really small town in east Texas. I was working a 15 week assignment in a nursing home where I befriended Shan, a speech therapist who was also on temporary assignment. We hit it off immediately and by the end of my first week there, we were making plans to go out and hit the town together.
Let me reiterate: I found myself in a really small town in east Texas. "Hitting the town" proved to be a major disappointment. Not only was the town ridiculously small, but it was also located in what is know as a "dry county". I'm not sure if this is a uniquely southern phenomenon, or if other parts of the country are equally as daft. The general gist is: no alcohol sold anywhere in the county. That is absolute madness! I could even buy a beer in Salt Lake City when I went to the Olympics! That first week found Shan and I driving the 27 miles to the county line to buy some Parrot Bay that we drank while watching TBS.
The next week at work, somebody tipped us off to the dry county loophole: alcohol couldn't be sold in any PUBLIC establishment in the county. The law says nothing about PRIVATE clubs. So...all you had to do was join one of the "private clubs" located --well, not in this town, but in some of the surrounding towns. The next weekend, Shan and I joined the private Applebee's club and the private Outback Steakhouse club in the next town. But we still had not found what we were looking for: a bar where we could grab a beer, hear a band, maybe dance or shoot pool all while looking like our super cute selves.
Finally, week three on the job, somebody told us of two "private social clubs" that sounded like what we wanted: The Lone Star and The Longhorn. (In Texas? You don't say!) We decided that the next weekend, we would really hit the town.
Friday night, cute, tan, cleaned up and sporting the sundresses, we set out to find The Lone Star. It turned out to be nothing more than a long hallway of a place with a bar along one wall. There were a total of 4 people inside. It looked like the weekly meeting for Serial Killers of the South. We lasted exactly 8 seconds.
The Longhorn looked significantly more promising. It had it all: dancefloor, pool tables, 2 bars, a DJ, and at least 50 people in cowboy hats, boots, and Wrangler jeans. We signed up for membership, got our cards and ventured into the club.
As you can probably guess, it all went downhill from there.
to be continued...