So, I was going through old pictures, and I realized that "getting to know me" should not only include how I think, but what I've done. And, what I've done is probably much more interesting to you than how I think, which pains me to my very core.
When I lived in Nashville, I worked at the Wildhorse Saloon as the Bootshine and Cigar Girl (my #1 favorite job I've ever had, another post about that later).
One Friday night, when I was shining boots, a group of guys came in. They looked to be military fellows, with their crewcuts. They were milling about near my bootshine stand, and I noticed one of them looked like he wanted to speak to me. The other guys seemed to be egging him on, so finally, red-faced, he came over. He said that he was in town for the weekend for an event, and he didn't have a date.
His name was Stewart, he was a flight surgeon with the Air National Guard, and they were having their annual banquet. It was to be a formal event, held the very next night. He asked if I would attend with him. He was very sweet, and Southern, and he said ma'am enough times to convince me he really was what he said he was.
So I agreed, and he told me to meet him at the Opryland Hotel the next night at 6pm. Of course, I had nothing to wear to a formal event, so the next day after working the lunch shift at Chili's, I raced to Macy's and found a long red dress on sale for $150. I figured this was a once in a lifetime thing, so I splurged.
I got to the hotel just in time to meet him, and then we had to get on a bus to head down to The Hermitage. He had forgotten his wings, and had to race back up to his room to get them, and was in a complete panic that his seargant/major/commander/whatever you call it might have seen him without his wings on.
We took a tour of the Tennessee State Museum, had cocktails and dinner at The Hermitage, and after dinner a Major and a Colonel spoke.
We went back to the Opryland after dinner, and Stewart and I walked around the hotel. It was Christmas, and if you've never been to the Opryland hotel at Christmas, you're missing out on a real life fairyland. It's like NeverNever Land on earth, 2nd star to the right and straight on 'til morning....but I digress.
Stewart was the perfect gentleman, and as I recall, we had a very nice time. He asked if I would take him out dancing on Sunday night, which I did.
That was Stewart's downfall. When my friend and I got to his hotel room to pick him up, he answered the door with an earring in his ear. He wasn't wearing it on Saturday night (I assume because of the seargant/general/commander/whatever). Not that I have a problem with earrings on a man, but I do have a problem with insecurity. Stewart had to mention the earring, and explain why he didn't wear it the night before.
If you are a man who wears an earring, you must NEVER talk about the earring. That's the only way to pull it off. The moment you talk about it, you have lost the right to wear it.
We took him to Graham Central Station, my favorite dance spot in Nashville. 70's disco room, Deuling Piano Bar, hip hop room, etc....Once I saw Stewart get a little tipsy and dance on one of the little raised platforms, it was all over. Poor Stewart. There was no recovering from that.
He was such a nice guy. A complete gentleman. And yet, he just didn't cut it for me. I tried all night to force myself into it, but it just wasn't happening.
I took him back to the hotel, and we talked for a little while; made promises to write and maybe visit each other.
He sent me a letter and photos a few weeks later.
(Suzzane, I hope all is going well for you in Nashville. Things have been incredibly busy here since my return. I took my last final exam today. Over the break I'm visiting my family in GA and Skydiving in FL. Thanks again for helping to make my stay in Nashville terriffic! I wish you all the best; Give me a call if you ever make it to the BIG EASY! Stewart)The letter only served to reinforce my opinon of Poor Stewart. If you know anything about me, you know my spelling fetish. He did show me a very interesting evening though, and for that I will always be grateful.
For the love of money, I just googled him....Turns out he's a plastic surgeon. Well, I missed that boat. He married his ballroom dance instructor. Oh, the irony.
But I'd still choose poor with good grammar over money and bad spelling.
Better info on the Saloon here.
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