This night Benjamin Folke Thomas, a blond, heavily ringleted and bearded local opened for The Arlenes – both solid. But the set I preferred was small and unadvertised with two gents from Lucero, a Memphis altcountry band. They were in town and between shows, and though 12 Bar’s stage isn’t big enough for the full group, these two fit just fine. As for audience space, there’s always room at the front. I was close enough to get a wink from Rick (on accordion) and rest my drink at the base of Ben’s mic stand. These American boys were all manners, thanking the club for letting them “crash the party” and making sure the whiskey at their feet did not in fact belong to anyone else before sinking it. The experience was good. The music was great.

The Arlenes provided some onstage married couple banter, as well as several songs about hopeless relationships and pain. I excused myself for a drink refill. And what kind of girl would I be if I returned to my date empty-handed? Figured I’d better grab a beer for my bloke.

I approached the bar still abuzz from the Lucero tunes, grabbed my proverbial shovel, and started to dig…

Me: “Hi! Can I get a glass of red wine and a glass of beer?” First gaffe – I’m slightly embarrassed: ”I mean a pint – a pint of beer.”

Dark, stocky, bearded bartender: Nods. Gets pint glass and starts filling it with Fosters.

Me: “Wait, not Fosters! Better than that.” (Omigosh did I really just say that?) “I mean, I…Well, It’s not for me.” Backpedaling, backpedaling…. “What would YOU drink?” Bowing to bartender’s obvious expertise is clearly the only gracious way out.

DSBB: “Fosters.”

Me: “Right. That’s cool.”

DSBB: “Look, you didn’t say what kind of beer, you just said a beer.” Places beer on bar and begins pouring a glass of red wine.

Me: “I know, Fosters is you know, fine. I don’t drink much beer, so I really wouldn’t know.” Begin self deprecation. ”I mean, I just have a few Australian friends and they joke about Fosters is all.” Deflect beer fluency away from self and toward those in the know. ”What do I owe you?”

DSBB: “I’m Australian, and I drink Fosters.” Places wine next to pint. “Six quid.”

Me: “I’m going to stop talking.”

DSBB: Nods.

This entry is dedicated to Amy (@knappst3r) and Ryan (@darthbender), who know me well enough to know this is EXACTLY how it happened.