Every time we go to Nashville we have to start by getting some work done because we know the inevitable is on the horizon. The “inevitable” is becoming increasingly drunk throughout the day until poof…it’s the next day.
A solid Nashville visit is two or three days. It’s just enough time to wreck your liver and get back home and on schedule with normal life. Being that our headquarters are in Chicago, it’s a nice quick hour flight. You take off, hit peak altitude, get a double Wild Turkey in you (strongest stuff Southwest carries at 50.5%), and before you know it, you’re descending. I get excited just thinking about it.
Like I said, we’re going there for “work,” but always find a way to fill each and every moment with alcohol and excuses to drink. Even when we are working or meeting with folks, it involves drinking which is cool because it makes awkward people less awkward. It’s hard not to drink in that town. Why is this bar full at 2pm on a Wednesday? I’m not sure, but I like it. Music, drunks of all ages. One of life’s great joys is drinking during weird hours but having an excuse to do it. Because of this, we have to get all of our important shit out of the way the first four hours we’re in town, or we’ll be drunk for anything important we’re supposed to do. It’s not something you can control. Everybody is always drinking everywhere and we can’t stay away from it.
Honestly, I often times ask myself “Christ almighty – what the fuck is going on? Can I be productive here ever?”
Nashville isn’t a vacation for us anymore, but we sure act like it is. The varying forms of alcohol and fun find us, actually. Actually, there are no “various forms” of fun – it all involves drinking all the time. That’s THE FUN. We don’t fight it. We let the bartenders fill those plastic cups with whiskey and we drink them for you, the people. You know that feeling when you’re super excited to drink for something like a summer concert tailgate, or fun holiday like Friday? You’re so excited to drink you can’t even fucking eat? That’s the Nashville feeling I still get. Hoping it wears off, but it’s been a few years and I’m getting worried.
Anyways…I have a hunch the timeline of events for you, and us, mirror one another.
Here’s how it goes…
You wake up after barely sleeping.
Like I was talking about earlier, you’re so excited to drink the following day you can’t get any good sleep. Your mind is racing like you fell into a bathtub of cocaine, which makes you question your own life. “Why am I so excited?” You can’t calm yourself down so you wake up at 4am and start listening to a 90’s country playlist such as ours (Spotify or Apple, we have the best playlists in the biz) to take your adrenaline over the edge. Deep down you know a full day of drinking in Nashville after 3 hours of sleep won’t go well, but there’s nothing you can do about it now. You’re dug in like a tick, and need to work with what you have.
You know you need to eat, but can barely put your breakfast down.
Everything you try to eat makes you gag because it doesn’t taste like Coors Light or room temperature well tequila. “Fuck it, I’ll eat at some point later.”
You get to the airport and speed walk to the first bar with an open stool.
You want a good buzz getting on the plane at 8am. So you chug three Coors Lights as fast as possible for no reason at all. You have plenty of time, and they have to-go cups. Whatever. You’re a seasoned veteran, and you know these pees are going to now come in bunches. The first pee before the flight will be a teaser. It’s not the beer yet. Right when you’re seated on the plane, and take off for the runway, the three beers hit your bladder like a ton of piss bricks. You think your bladder might explode, causing that Rocky Mountain liquid gold to permeate your body. You finally relieve yourself, now it’s time for more.
You proceed to drink yourself cross-eyed on the one hour flight.
Nothing better than airplane small talk when you’re fucked up at 9am – yeah meditating helps you be present but so does this.
Then, you stumble off the plane and have a quick beer at Nashville’s airport to waste money.
You and your traveling companions need to gather your thought and regroup.
You get in an Uber pretty drunk.
Nashville Uber drivers always seem really nice, except for that one guy that wanted to fight me when I asked him to take us to McDonald’s at 3 am repeatedly. On the Uber ride to wherever you’re staying, the buzz starts to wear off, and the lack of sleep kicks in. This is the closest feeling to death I can imagine. You’re at a crossroads, and need to make a CEO decision. Do we nap, or do we put the pedal to the metal and go for it? Full throttle. No turning back. You go for it, and keep drinking, like a warrior.
You do none of the stuff you say you’re going to do on the trip.
You say you’re going to go see museums, waterfalls and cool parks just outside the city, eat at fancy hip restaurants. None of that shit happens. You look at your phone and realize you’ve been at Tin Roof since lunch time and it’s 8pm now.
You barely see the outside of any bar. Before Whiskey Riff, while visiting during July 4th, we spent 12 hours in Honky Tonk Central one Saturday (Broadway is a fucking disaster and we stay away from it these days). I barely saw the light of day. Some of the most degenerate drinking one can partake in, and man, did I love every second of it. I had no idea I could drink 35 double shots of warm well tequila and not die on the spot. It was terrific. Now, we have a diversified portfolio of drinking locations all around town and in different neighborhoods where we can drink in peace and quiet without some bachelorette party throwing inflatable dicks in the air.
Well, that’s basically it. You drank yourself mentally incapable of spelling your own name by day three.