If you’re traveling to Nashville for work, you better get whatever needs to get done ASAP because the inevitable is on the horizon. The “inevitable” is becoming increasingly drunk throughout the day until poof…it’s the next day.
Now, if you’re heading to Nashville to drink, well, you’re in luck. It’s a good place to drink.
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.
So, what does that trip really look like?
Here’s your perfect Nashville trip, broken down.
You “wake up” after barely sleeping.
You’re so excited to drink the following day you can’t get any good sleep. You know all about this. Maybe you’re heading to a day baseball game, or some day drinking festivities called day drinking – the excitement is overbearing. 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 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 7am. 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 take an early morning flight.
Those breakfast beers are sitting real nice. You’re so jacked up you can barely think about eating anything without alcohol in it. 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.
You proceed to drink yourself cross-eyed on the one hour flight.
Nothing better than airplane small talk when you’re sloshed up at 8am – 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..
You and your traveling companions need to gather your thoughts and regroup over an 8:30am beer and figure out how this day will work.
WOOOOOOOOOOOO. You’re now fully torqued, ready to drink yourself blind before noon.
It’s hard not to drink in that town. Why is this bar full at 2pm on a Wednesday? Because it is. Music, drunks of all ages. One of life’s great joys is drinking during weird hours but having an excuse to do it.
Honestly, I often times ask myself “Christ almighty – what the fuck is going on? Can I be productive here ever?”
Maybe you need to be in Nashville for a business trip, or you’re just passing through. It’s not a vacation, but you sure act like it is. You get one of those double tequila shots, just warm enough from sitting out in the hot bar, served in the medicine cup. And poof – off to the races.
You know you need to eat, but you convince yourself you’ll eat a few bars from now.
Everything you try to eat makes you gag because it doesn’t taste like Coors Light or that room temperature well tequila. You know you have to build a solid base, but the adrenaline is too much to handle. Godspeed.
You get in an Uber at the “chatty in an Uber” level drunk.
Nashville Uber drivers always seem really nice, except for that one guy that wanted to fight a friend once when he asked him politely 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.
All the beers and tequila will help you through.
You hop around town, losing sense of reality, time, and balance.
If you’re with a Nashville rookie, you feel obligated to take them to Broadway, but you don’t want to. You still do it so the get the experience of seeing Bachelorette parties covered in vomit stumble through the streets like a scene out of Walking Dead.
Time blurs. You haven’t eaten real food. Now it’s like 6pm.
You know you’re going to end up at Cook Out later, but you need something to soak up this booze or you’ll be sleeping in Tootsie’s.
You convince each other you’re all sober enough to not embarrass yourself at a decent restaurant in town, but end up being the table that is probably too loud, or too sleepy. You leave a massive tip because your buddy was annoying and asked stupid questions about the side dishes.
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 multiple fancy/hip restaurants. None of that shit happens. You look at your phone and realize you’ve been at a bar since lunch time and it’s 8pm now.
Because of your friends who aren’t as well-versed in Nashville you end up spending way too much time on Broadway, begging them to go somewhere else (Broadway is a f*cking disaster and we stay away from it these days). You barely see the light of day…
This is some of the most degenerate drinking one can partake in, and man, do I love every second of it. I had no idea. You take your 12th shot of tequila from a medicine cup, and end it with “I don’t even feel that drunk” as you see a bachelorette party throwing inflatable dicks in the air off in the distance.
And that’s basically it. Wake up, rinse off, repeat. Day two is a blur like day one but the kicker is your insides feel like they’ve been put through a NutriBullet. You drank yourself mentally incapable of spelling your own name by day three. The flight home is nothing short of torture as you battle the very real hungover panic attack mid-flight feeling.