Moving to Nashville, I thought my life would resemble Sex and the City. Right off the bat, three friends came into my life. A Samantha, a Charlotte, and a Miranda were always by my side creating special memories like me falling in the mud on the softball diamond because I wasn’t wearing cleats.
My Mr. Big from Boston got married and was having difficulty with his wife. In a bold movement, I asked him to come down to Nashville for a mini-vacation to forget his woes. In shock, he kicked me out of his life and blackmailed me in the process. He said if I ever contacted him again, my family and coworkers would find out that I am gay. Needless to say, the three closest friendships I had come to depend on were not there in my time of need. Instead, I realized they had slowly drifted out of my life.
Without my three amigos, I did what any gay man would do on the first Friday of the month. I decided to go to Post Office night at Tribe, but only after asking a softball bud to be my wingman. Upon entering the establishment, I found the Human Rights Campaign (HRC) table and purchased my number. To my astonishment, I thought maybe the table would have information about clubs in Nashville that support GLBT rights or maybe some literature on what HRC does in our community. I was wrong and the pamphlets that were in sight were on gay adoption. I am aware of Post Office Night, the banquets and fundraising, but how does the organization help us in Nashville? As I was about to ask one of the HRC reps how the organization brings the community together, and I was slapped on the back with a number and was told to have fun.
I looked at my wingman, Esteban, and raised an eyebrow. Together, we went to the pool table and established our base for the night. After two games of pool and staring at the HRC members talking among each other, I looked at Esteban and together we did our first fruit loop of the night.
Together we acted like wild animals searching for prey. Unfortunately, the prey was short in numbers that night. After two hours of writing and not getting a response back, I finally saw my number on the tote board. Who wrote me back? Maybe I was lucky and it was one of the hot bartenders, Steve or Loy.
Unfortunately, the note was from a nineteen-year-old twinkee asking me to meet him in the bed of his pickup truck for Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. Suddenly, I felt like an old troll. I can’t prey on some little boy and even if I could, why the back end of his pickup truck?
Finally, in disgust of what seemed to me to be a red neck manhunt night, I took my number off and told Esteban that its not in my cards to meet anybody. Suddenly, my life was no longer Sex In The City. Instead, I had digressed to Drew Barrymore’s character Josse Grosse from Never Been Kissed, and even worse, reality set in. How can I establish my own life? Right then on that little dance area in front of the jumbo video screen, I decided on Sunday I would come to Tribe alone to see what would happen.
Funny thing, Tribe on Sunday is a peaceful place. You can hear yourself think, talk to the bartenders and ask them about places in Nashville. If you want to grab a bite to eat, you can do so in the bar area or if your nice enough to the hostess at Red, you can hide out in the restaurant and eat in the bar area in there.
You don’t have to worry about people talking about you cause you’re a party of one or feeling awkward about eating alone. Instead, you can relax and enjoy your meal. Afterward, you can mingle at the bar in Tribe or shoot pool. If you do play a game of pool and don’t want to play by yourself, Ginger is always up for a game. She is one of the friendliest and outgoing people at Tribe. The sad part is, I have lost every game of pool when I played against her.
Then there are the regulars like my favorite Kentucky DJ and Steve, the mortician, who will treat you like a regular person and not an outsider. The best part of the night is watching Loy interact with everyone during the song “Don’t Cry For Me Argentina." Watching him lead the crowd to the finale is truly a Nashville experience that no gay man should miss.
So, as for me, the best place to be on a Sunday Night is Tribe, but be mindful that Ed McMahon won’t show up at every Post Office night with your winnings.