With a demolition derby and wedding (to attend) in my near future, I knew two things were absolutely necessary: coonskin caps and an impromtu bachelorette party.
So, while Sleepless tried on wedding dresses, Not Racist and I called around town looking for coonskin cap retailers. By ‘around town,’ I specifically mean a town several hundred miles South of the city, in which I have seen coonskin hats for sale at the gas station. By the second gas station/retailer call, I had found the caps. I advised Not Racist of my finding and, knowing we needed to throw together a bachelorette party for the evening, we decided to search for surrounding bars and lodging. Although lodging was plentiful, there was only one bar/lounge in this Southern town, so, with nothing but the clothes we were wearing and a yearning for coonskin caps and trouble, we hopped in the car and headed South.
Sleepless, like so many others, couldn’t believe we were really driving to Beaver (yes, that’s the name of the town) and was surprised we hadn’t checked with inner city retailers/gas stations. Coonskin caps aren’t typically found in the big city – they’re found in big Beaver country. And so the jokes began. “Who doesn’t want to stay the night in Beaver?” “Just checked in at the Fillmore-Beaver area.” “We come from Beaver.”
Three hours later, we were in the gas station purchasing three coonskin caps and a couple of I heart Beaver souvenirs (t-shirts and bracelets) – all of which we opted to don for the duration of the trip. We drove down Main Street, found the only bar in town, and selected lodging accordingly (something within walking/stumbling distance). The parking lot at the hotel was pretty full for this sleepy Southern region (Beaver is a Southern region if you’re from the North), so I approached the front desk prepared to be told what many hear when trying to stay in Beaver, “No vacancy.” I requested a room with two beds and the front desk representative replied, “Three.” “Yes, we have three people,” I said, knowing he could easily see the two other girls in coonskin caps. “Three. I only have a room with three beds,” he clarified. “Perfect. We’ll take it!” I excitedly replied.
None of us had ever stayed in a room with three beds and our imaginations led us to envision a room with three twin beds in a tidy row against the wall. We opened the door to find three full beds, two on one wall and a third tucked in the corner of an adjacent wall. “It was meant to be that we stay in Beaver,” Not Racist observed. “That’s what he said,” Sleepless quipped.
Not wanting to waste any precious bachelorette party time, we headed straight to the bar. The town was quiet – no cars or people out and about. As we arrived at the door of the lounge we placed bets on the number of patrons. Our numbers were between 8-15 and we were all wrong. There were three people in the bar. Four if you count the bartender. Within seconds, one of the locals/locos, presented at our table with his phone and said, “Will you say something to my friend? He can’t believe there are people, girls, here.” We did as he requested and, within minutes, the bar had one more patron – his phone friend. “So you guys were just passing through Beaver and decided to stop?” they asked. Giggles from us – the Beaver jokes will always be funny. “No, we came to Beaver. On purpose,” Sleepless advised them (and several others throughout the night). “Who doesn’t like Beaver?” Not Racist quipped. More giggling.
After Sleepless and I danced to a few songs on the empty dance floor, one of the patrons sent a round of shots to our table. After he sent another round of shots, we invited him to have a drink with us and asked him what he was doing in Beaver. “I’m taking over this Beaver project. It’s a huge opportunity for an undergrad,” he replied. We got it – a Beaver project is often a huge opportunity. We continued chatting and learned he was staying at the same hotel and had drinks in his room. “I’m just here because I didn’t want to drink alone and I like being with anyone who can appreciate my alcoholism,” he told us and then said, “You’re welcome to come back to my room and have a drink, but you can’t stay.” Such a Beaver thing to do – invite ’em in and quickly kick ’em out.
We took him up on his offer, enjoyed a cider with him, and returned to our room. “Three beds. One Beaver. Good times, good night,” I told Sleepless and Not Racist. “A good night it was,” Sleepless said and we fell asleep with our I heart Beaver t-shirts and bracelets on and our coonskin caps nearby – ready to cover our Beaver bedhead in the morning.