In the summer of 2008, I was touring the south and ran out of money the night I hit Birmingham. I played a little house show, made $30, and blew it that night on drinking.
Typical.
Instead of figuring out a way to leave and move on, I decided to stay a couple of weeks to see what I could make of it.
The night of the house show I met Chris. I told him about my travels and how I’d come up broke. He offered me a place to stay, as well as his time and talents to help me record an EP. He rallied several friends during my time there to come contribute to our project, which I affectionately titled “Birmingham”.
I could go on about how humbled I was over these people’s hospitality and willingness to work for free for a stranger’s endeavors, but that story is a sweet one whereas I’m trying to tell more of a coming of age tale.
One night we finished a session around 1:45am, and I needed a drink. Chris had to pass because he had work in the morning, so I shot out the door and tried to make it to a bar before last call.
I didn’t make it.
Instead, I grabbed a soda, a pack of smokes, and walked around a nearby park. After about an hour, I decided to head back but was sidetracked when I saw, what looked liked, a bar packed with people. I pulled in the parking lot and approached two guys walking to their cars.
“Is this place open?”
“Yeah, 24 hours.”
“Really? They serving drinks?”
“Yep”
I parked and walked in to the Quest Club. It was a gay bar.
Dance floor. Lights. House music. But most importantly, a bar.
I found me an open stool, ordered a Heineken (don’t ask why), and reached for a cigarette. Before I could light my cigarette, a hand shot out from my left and a gentleman named Paul kindly lit it for me.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. How are you?”
“Good. Thanks.”
Small talk continued for a few minutes.
Paul was a nice guy. He was an older man, maybe mid 50’s, had kids, born and raised in Birmingham, and loved spending his retired years out drinking with the younger people of his town. After a good half hour of getting to know one another, Paul got bold:
“So I know this isn’t your typical scene, but you’re here tonight.”
“Yeah, I was just looking to have a drink.”
“No. You’re HERE tonight.”
“Ah, yes I see what you mean. Well, it was the only place I could find that was open.”
“Well, my cab is here so if you’re looking to drink you should come back to my place.”
“No thanks, I’m good”
We shook hands and parted ways.
Not a minute goes by before Paul walked back in and tapped me on the shoulder.
“Seriously. You should come home with me”.
“Paul, I’m flattered you want to hang more but I’m going to stay here”.
Now I’m not a stranger to the ways of the world, but every now and again I’m taken off guard. For example, I was out drinking with a friend not too long ago, and as we were leaving, I noticed she looked a bit down. I asked her if she was okay, and she told me about a man inside the bar, who pulled out his penis, grabbed her hand, and forced her to touch him. I asked her to point him out. I approached him. It was not a very pleasant interaction overall, but I did find one of his comments to be amusing. After I told him that this behavior was not acceptable he responded:
“I always pull my dick out in this bar.”
See? No matter how well versed I think I am of the human race, a comment like that seems to throw me off a bit.
So… back to Paul:
“Paul, I’m flattered you want to hang more but I’m going to stay here”.
To which Paul so eloquently responded,
“Fuck flattery. It’s just sex.”
And there I was: thrown off a bit.
I do, though, suppose he had a point. Nothing about me intrigued him. I was just a warm body. No reason for him to send the wrong message, right?
I gave him a very stern “no” and he got in his cab.
Along with my time with Paul, I was in conversation with this woman (older as well. I’d say mid 40’s) named Cynthia. She worked the door at the Quest Club. After Paul’s exit, she leaned over to ask me what he was going on about. I told her the story, and she was offended.
“Everyone in here knows this isn’t your scene. He’s out of line asking you such things.”
“It’s seriously not a problem.”
“Well, there is a bar down the street that stays open till 7am, and it’s your kind of scene. Would you like to join me?”
I should add that by this point it was about 4:30am.
“Sure”, I said. “That would be great.”
Cynthia and I got in our cars, and I followed her down the street to a little joint called “The Nick”. I would later in life come to fall in love with The Nick but, at this point, it was just another bar.
I bought her a beer; she returned the favor. She shared stories about her family; I did the same. We were really getting along. She was a sweet lady with a ton of southern charm and I was new to the road and new to meeting strangers. It was beautiful.
About an hour or so into our talk, I asked her what she did outside of working the door at Quest Club.
“Well that’s all I’m doing at the moment. Up until recently I was working as a call girl but I’ve since put that behind me.”
“Wow. I bet you could tell some stories.”
“Yes I could. Would you like to hear some?”
For the next hour, she stole any innocence I had left in my mind, and we said our goodbyes at sunrise around 6:30am.
This was the year I began traveling the country full time, and that was the morning I realized where and to whom the road could bring me. I was young-minded then and thought I’d just be singing pretty songs for pretty people. I’m so thankful this was and is not the case. The road has a lot of secrets, and most days the road is driving me, not the other way around.
So here’s to the fine city of Birmingham, to the people who helped me make an EP, and to Paul and Cynthia: You both caught me off guard, and you’ll never be forgotten.
