Carry Stress in the Jaw
I was in the mountains of northeastern Tennessee last year. It was around 6 o'clock on a Sunday and all the restaurants were closed, but I was really hungry and I drove around the hollers looking for anywhere I could get some food. I came upon a bar and grill which was a few miles down a dirt road past a few cemetaries. I parked and went inside and there was one seat available, and they actually had food. It was $3 for a ham and cheese sandwich and dollar for a Coke. I ate the sandwich. All I could taste was cigarette smoke.
Even if you consider yourself a connoiseur of dive bars, you've never experienced anything like this. There was a sign on the men's room door that said "if you don't consider yourself either a male or female, get the f**k out". Several of the words were misspelled. The guy next to me engaged in conversation with me for a few minutes, then pointed at my fingernails and asked if I was a fa**ot. I told him I was not. There were also a lot of confederate flags. Like, everywhere.
The woman to my right nudged me and starting talking. She looked to be about 70 maybe 75. She had "love" and "hate" tattoed on her knuckles and was missing a goodly amount of her teeth. I couldn't understand more than one out of every three words - between the heavy Appalachian accent, her slurring and the poor dental hygiene, she may as well have been speaking Swahihi. So I just nodded every time her inflection indicated that she was asking a question. At some point she told me she was 44 - that I was able to comprehend. As she continued to talk, she put her hand casually on my thigh. I looked around for another seat, but there were none to be had. She asked me another question and I nodded as if to indicate that I understood what she was saying, and then I noticed that several people at the bar were making a universal gesture at me - the hand back and forth across the neck - stop. Whatever you're doing, don't do it. Before I could do anything, she abruptly grabbed my hand and pulled me off my chair and a few steps toward the front door. She told me - I believe - that it was going to be 40 and I would have to drive - she ain't have no car.
The obvious question here is why didn't I just leave the bar after I finished my three dollar ham and cheese. I don't know. I was fascinated by this place.
I pulled my hand away and told her that I thought there had been a misunderstanding and she got angry. Very angry. I went over to the jukebox and started scrolling through the music so I wouldn't have to sit back down next to her. She started yelling and pointing at me - shouting "that guy over there's a fa**ot" (that's twice I was called that within an hour). She yelled "that guy passed up on the best (redacted) he done ever gonna had". She hurled vitriol I couldn't entirely make out. And then she fell off her chair and onto the floor. Nobody helped her up. I imagine this was a frequent occurance.
I handed the bartender a ten, made a half-hearted wave at the people at the bar, and beat it out the front door. I got into my rental car and plugged my phone into the GPS to try to figure out how to get out of there. I was still fiddling with Waze when motion caught my eye and I looked up. She was standing next to the driver's side window, making a cranking motion. I rolled down the window about two inches. She asked me if I would be her husband in a sad, pleading voice. I put the car in reverse and drove away as fast as I could.
It was pretty fast.
