Can I just be honest here?
I had no flaming idea what was about to happen. There truly isn't any way to adequately describe the CMA-fest unless you have experienced it. It's a lot like trying to tell someone who has never had it what salt tastes like!
We checked into our home away from home for the night and ditched our bags in the hotel room, then headed out for the home of the CMA-fest in Nashville, Tennessee - LP Field. It's a cozy little spot where Beth and I, along with 70,000 of our dearest country-loving friends gathered to be entertained in glorious fashion.
The parking for this event is predictably a formal affair with tags and pay for parking areas. Beth had a tag to park in the 'holy land' right by the stadium itself. She also lucked into a delightful parking slot where we could literally SEE the exit for our escape when the event was over. Having been to large scale events before, I know the drill. When the 'amen' is said, you politely elbow your way out in the mass exodus of other patrons to the throne of country which are spewing out toward the parking area and hope that you (1) remember where you parked and (2) that you can get out of the parking area before daybreak.
When we got inside the hallowed stadium, we located our seats then headed over to the place for the eats. You can't enjoy a concert when your stomach is growling louder than the bass guitar. It just isn't done.
Fortunately, there was a host of choices and we bellied up to the Logan's Roadhouse kiosk for some Buffalo Chicken and some pork barbecue. We split the entrees so we could each have half of the selections. With the heat and humidity both up into the uncomfortable range, we also added ice cold water to the menu.
Some kind country friends shared their table with us so that we could enjoy the evening without a tale-tell 'barbecue stain on our white t-shirts'. Everyone can be your friend at these country music events because everyone is trying to enjoy the same event and they are all as excited as we are to be there.
As with all events of this type, you have to time your trip to the bathroom facilities during the set changes so that you don't miss what you came to see. Public restroom facilities are a caution under normal circumstances, but when you are competing for a stall with about 43,000 of your best friends for your shot at relief, things get dicey.
When my turn for the mad dash at an empty stall came, I ran as fast as two bad ankles allow... and believe me, sisters and brothers, when your bladder is full... speed is of the essence and I think I could have covered Olympic qualifying time quite easily.
Haste isn't always what it's cracked up to be...
My quickly chosen stall proved to be one without a lock on the door.
I know we are all girls here in this bathroom, but on a hot, sweaty, sticky day... a woman needs her privacy. Peeling down clothes that are welded to your body to take care of nature's call requires careful attention.
But, minus the lock on the door, I was left with the unenviable task of trying to come up with some options to protect decency that would not keep me trapped forever while the strains of filtered country music floated into the bathroom.
I tried to hold the door shut with my right leg held high and my right foot braced against the door while delicately trying to aim for the toilet on one leg and lower myself down without getting a nasty, unwelcome public bathroom cold water rinse on my tender hind parts.
This isn't an easy feat. I think even Nadia Comaneci would have had a difficult time with this particular skilled gymnastic maneuver. With several eager women pushing one after the other against the door hoping for their opportunity to take care of their business, the pressure against my foot was rising. Zero fun campers. Did you know that you can't talk well through gritted teeth while every muscle in your leg is twitching from the unrelenting pressure of holding the stall door shut? Neither did I.
Finally, the agony of the probably comedy ensuing posture was now over and MY business was done, I faced the rather ugly prospect of trying to protect my dignity without losing my balance and falling into... well... the unflushed evidence of my passing. EEEeeeeeeewwww!
Have you ever tried to levitate your body from a seated position with one leg (pretend it's got a bad knee and ankle just to humor me?), there is nothing to grab onto which can assist in your Herculean task, then you must continue to somehow block the door and pull up your sweaty, wet clothing into something resembling proper position without giving yourself a third degree wedgie, and zip up your pants all while holding one leg up on a 60 degree angle (give or take a leg cramp) to keep the stall door closed?
NO? Gee, you have missed out on a workout routine that makes the 100 mile marathon look like child's play.
I am here to tell you IT CAN BE DONE!!!
Finally, I was able to exit the stall without shaming my family to the third and fourth generation and head to the sink to wash my hands. Two women, who evidently had all the time in the world, stood there talking to each other and blocking the sink. Angling around them to wash my hands, I realize that Beth was done and waiting for me by the wall on my right.
There were no paper towels. Can this country music inspiring tragedy get any worse???
Do you know what a redneck paper towel is?
Yes, campers, I wiped my hands on the legs of my blue jeans. Beth had already made the same discovery as had lots of other country gals. I'm glad we all survived the public bathroom ordeal. I'd hate to think that my family would have to read of my untimely demise due to a horrible and embarrassing public restroom mishap. It could scar them for life. After all, even a "cheap funeral" is expensive these days.
Making our way out into the concourse to head back to the moments of glee that awaited us, we carefully navigated through the crowds of drinkers, diners and delirious fans to get back to our seats. Thankfully, we arrived in plenty of time to see the show going on. What a show!!!
WOOOOOOOO!! AMAZING!! FANTASTIC!! INCREDIBLE!! YEEEEEEEEHAAAAA!!
(Carrie Underwood and Jason Aldean)
The man from Boston who now lives in Switzerland and his delightful girl friend from London, England's West End who sat behind us provided another kind of "entertainment" that also blew me away.
The damnyankee boyfriend was drunk. And he was drinking another beer. Or at least he HAD another beer. Three of us ladies in front of him were WEARING that beer. He spat on us. Yep. Damnyankee spits his beer on us. Later, as an encore, he poured beer down my back. His girl friend did her part by apologizing for his atrocious manners and behavior and by promising him that if he would just behave she would buy him more drinks 'tomorrow'.
Whatever. I'm sure her weekend (which was VERY expensive considering flights, food, tickets, parking and accomodations would not be cheap from Europe to Nashville, Tennessee) will be a complete bust. What fun to haul around the drunken form of your date while he embarrasses himself and his friends all weekend. NOT!
Don't sign me up for that kind of fun, please!
Because I apparently have a large magnet that draws interesting experiences to me like flies to honey, I am trying to take it all in good humor.
I just have to say though, the best part of all of this is sharing it with Beth. Singing along at the top of our lungs until we are hoarse, clapping along to the rhythm of the music on the beat, off the beat and between the beat, and taking in the music and common experience that speaks to the heart and soul of a nation, and indeed, of the world.
It is a privilege to share a portion of someone else's time, life and experience. Beth generously shared something wonderful that speaks to her heart. On June 10th, I got to match the rhythm of her country heart beat for beat right along with the kick of the bass drum in the songs.
God must love country people for sure, because He blessed us with some of His children who have the gift of song.
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