Our Nashville Adventure, Told in Several Very Dramatic Installments ~ Part 1, "Hotdog money"

It's a beautiful December day, and my lovely friend Bridget and I are driving to Nashville for an overnight trip to celebrate her 25th birthday. Our spirits are high as we head north. I'm especially excited about the concert we are going to see that night; Relient K has been my favorite band since my teenage years, but I've never seen them perform a full concert. We get to Nashville in plenty of time and start making plans to go somewhere special for a birthday dinner. As we look for the exit that will take us into downtown, I notice that the traffic is beginning to get congested. Before I know it, a long line has formed in the right-hand lane, and my exit is coming up fast. I try to merge onto the exit ramp, but the line of cars is just too tight and I sail right on by. But I'm not too worried. I say "oh, I'll just go up to the next exit and turn south. That'll get us there." I'm pretty confident in my directional skills; after all, I've been to Nashville a whole two times in the past six months. I pretty much know my way around by now, right?

I exit at the next opportunity and start making my way toward downtown. Traffic is getting worse and worse, but small-town girl that I am, I think it's just a normal big city occurrence on a Friday night. That is, until we see the first police lights. The road to the right is blocked, right where I need to go. I shrug and continue at a snail's pace, hoping we'll get a chance to turn soon. An hour and a half later, we're about a mile up the road, and my friend Patience has abandoned me for sunnier skies. Bridget is taking it all in stride, snapping pictures of the bright city lights out the window. We have passed at least ten streets, all blockaded on the right. Finally, as our car is trapped in the middle of an intersection at a red light, I roll down my window and ask a traffic cop, "what's going on?" 

"Christmas parade," he says. 


Ah. Great. That would have been nice to know. At last, we get to the end of the street. Nowhere to go but... left. We drive over the river and decide to circle around and attempt it from the other direction. This works much better, and we arrive in the general vicinity of the concert venue. I am nervous about missing the show, so we decide to take the first parking spot that we see and walk the rest of the way. Bridget says "look! They're parking cars over there." She points to a small road flanked by warehouses and office buildings. There seem to be a couple of men directing cars into a parking lot. I quickly veer onto the street and am greeted by a man waving me toward him.


I pull up beside him and roll down my window. 

"Is this a parking area?" I ask.

"Yeah, you can park here. It's five dollar," he replies.

I pull into the spot he indicates and give him the five dollars. He asks for a tip, so I hand over another buck. 

"Now, you're sure it's ok to park here? Who owns this building?"

"Yeah yeah, it's jimnerferver's building."

"Who?"

"Jim... Jimner Ferver."

"Oh...ok... so nothing's going to happen if I park here?"

"Naw, naw, I'll watch it for you."

"You will?" 

"Yeah sure... can I have some more money? I wanna buy a hotdog."

"...Um..."

Now, I know what you're thinking. But how can I resist a request for hotdog money? My heart is made of sugar and spice and everything nice. It is not made of stone! I give him another couple of dollars and we walk toward the venue. I must confess that I did not trust our new friend with my whole heart. Call me crazy, suspicious, or paranoid, but I had a strange feeling that something was not right about the situation. 

Bridget and I debate whether we should turn back and find a different place to park, but in the end we walk on, saying a little prayer that my car will be there when we get back. As it turns out, we should have said a bigger prayer...

Stay tuned for the next installment of the story. It's a good one. Trust me, I was there.


PART 2 ~The Creeper~