I was 28 years old and recently broke up with my fiancé of 6 years and was traveling on business. I had just been promoted to a regional sales position and this was going to be a regular stop for me, since my largest customer was the largest employer in the town. It was late in the afternoon, I was mentally done for the day and emotionally done after the break up and anxious to check into my hotel room.
I had been engaged to my college sweet heart but could never pull the trigger. I always seemed to come up with one excuse after the other for waiting a bit longer. Finally, she had enough and found someone who she said was not afraid of commitment. She left me and moved in with her new beau she met at work.
It had been a month and it seemed I was on a downward spiral since the she dropped the bomb. Honestly though she had a point, and there was clearly a part of me that was relieved. Unfortunately, the self-pity part was winning the battle lately.
The hotel had no bar, so I asked the young man at the front desk if there was a bar in town with a happy hour.
"Unfortunately Mr. Stokes, this is a dry county. The closest bar of any kind is about 45 minutes away." he said politely.
"Well crap," I said. I really need to get buzzed and forget my troubles for a while. "A 45-minute drive won't cut it. Perfect topper for the month I've had."
I was extra depressed since I would be stopping by at least once per month for the foreseeable future. Nights would be very boring...
"There is a private men's club about a block down. They have a membership fee, but once you join, they have a bar in the club house." He said a bit hesitantly.
"Men's club as in strip club?" I asked, thinking a few naked babes would really help drown my sorrows.
"No its a social club. I think it's just a place to get drunk and get around the liquor laws in the county," he said smiling.
"How much is the membership?" I asked, recalling some stories I've heard from my dad and his friends about "clubs" in dry counties in the old days.
They would typically have a $5 membership fee. You give your name and address and you're in.
"I'm not sure, I think maybe $25 or so. I don't recall any guests joining since I've worked here, the past 18 months," he said shrugging.
"Yikes, that's a hefty cover charge," I said wincing.
I got my room key and thought I would just get my bags and head to the room. When I got to the car in the parking lot, I could see the sign on the front of an old brick building on the corner. "Tony's Men's Club Games and Billiards."
I decided I would check it out. A little pool and few tequila shots could be just what the doctor ordered. I hit the lock on the car and walked down. When I arrived the sign next to the door said:
Mon-Friday 4:30 to Midnight.
Saturday noon-midnight.
Closed Sunday
Members Only.
It was 4:45 on a Wednesday, so I tried the door, but it was locked. There was a doorbell button, but it was not marked in anyway. I thought I should just turn around and go back to the hotel. I started to turn and said to myself, "What the Hell?". I pushed the button and waited. Nothing happened so I rang again. I looked around and saw no one on the streets. What a dead town this was.
I really wanted a drink, so I pushed the button several times in succession.
"Coming!" I heard a voice yell, sternly.
A big burly bald guy answered the door, looked at me a bit surprised and asked, "Can I help you?"
I stepped back slightly and looked up at him. He was probably 6'3" and 235 lbs. He clearly lifted weights a lot. I am 5'8" and 175 and was afraid I just discovered a skin heads club of some kind.
"I was told this was a social club that accepted new members and you had a bar for members. Is that correct?" I asked sheepishly.
"Yes we are, sorry I am the only one here so far. It usually picks up a little later. Come on in and I can get the paperwork," he said, half smiling and holding the door open. "I'm Richard Johnson, Good to meet you."
He reached out his hand and I shook it, still not stepping in.
I hesitated, "You're not skin heads or anything are you?"
He laughed and rubbed his head, "Uh, no! In fact, our president it African American," he laughed, holding the door.
Still unsure, I asked, "How much does it cost?"
"50 bucks, but it is for a 5-night membership, and if you join permanently it is credited to your account and you can use it for the bar tab, if you like. So ultimately, it's free," he said continuing to hold the door. "No pressure, if you need to think about it we are open till midnight."
He started to let the door close, "Ok, sounds fair," I said squeezing in.
There was a bar with 8 barstools dead ahead, off to the left was a pool table and to the right were 3 card tables. There was music playing in the background it was Fit for an Autopsy, Heads Will Hang. I was shocked that a small town private men's club would play death metal. I thought, 'skin heads might,' hoping he told me the truth that the president was black.
He sat me at the table, gave me the paper work and said, "First rounds free upon payment. We take credit cards and cash, how would you like to pay?"
"Cash please, and I will have a shot of tequila," I said bobbing my head to the music.
"Coming right up," he said, stepping behind the bar.
He cranked the music, as I filled out my membership information. I wondered if I could turn the fee in on my expense report.
"Can I get a receipt for the membership fee please?" I asked. "I might be able to expense it for work," I yelled over the music.
"Sure," he said from behind the bar, putting my money in the register.
He brought me a receipt and another shot. He also brought a container of lemons and a shaker of salt.
"Do you want to run a tab? Shots are $2.50 by the way," he asked smiling and setting the bottle on the table with a shot glass for himself.
"$2.50, awesome, how long is happy hour?" I asked licking the salt and downing the shot.
"That price is good all night!" he smiled.
"Great," I said, "Hit me again and get one for yourself"
