I picked up Joe at about 10:00, and we took I-40 W to Benson, where we picked up I-95 S and took it all the way to Savannah. We exited onto 17 S in Savannah, and we could see our hotel while crossing the bridge into the city.
We stayed at the recently-renovated Thunderbird Inn, which was within stumbling distance to Club One, the bar at which we were to spend our evenings.
They offered high-speed Internet service, but not wireless service, but as it turned out, our room was right next to the office, and their wireless service covered our room. This made us happy campers.
The only thing that made us happier was the comfort of the beds in the room! Four over-stuffed pillows, down comforters, and a gazillion-thread count sheets.
We searched the web for a seafood place to eat down by the water, and decided on the Fiddlers Crab House. We walked along River Front looking for it, and not having luck, I ducked into a jewelry shop and asked for directions.
The woman behind the counter was nice, but didn’t know where it was. She pulled out an, evidently in retrospect, antiquated phone book, which placed the restaurant on 2 Barnard Street. We walked back up to the street level (from down at the river front), and walked around the block looking for such an address.
To make a long story short, we ended up back on River Front, where we found the Fiddler Crab House at 131 River Front, not 2 Barnard Street. Grrrrr!
We split a Crab Dip and Tortilla Chips appetizer, and each had a house salad. They did not have 1000 Islands dressing. It’s not they were out of it; it wasn’t on the menu.
Joe had a Shrimp Salad Sandwich with fries, and I had the Seafood Alfredo, which consisted of scallops and shrimp. Mine was exceptional.
Oh yeah, Joe had two beers here, and I had two diets and bourbon.
And, another oh yeah, our waitress was a ditz. At one point she came to our table and instead of saying, “Are you guys doing alright?” or “Can I get you anything?” she said, “Was I supposed to get you guys anything?”
Needless to say — but I’m going to say it anyway of course — her tip was 15% instead of 20%.
We got to Club One in time to see the 10:30 drag show, which was pretty decent. One guy in the show had incredible breasts. Bigger and rounder yet than Dana St. James’.
We saw the 12:30 drag show, too, which was supposed to be “the x-rated version” of the show, but it didn’t seem any dirtier to us.
Joe got to talking with a guy named Nitton, who was there with a group of his friends mostly from Charleston — Shawn (or Sean), who was a piece of work; Omar, who was an entire work; and Brian (or Bryan), who was “mostly straight,” whatever that means. How much dick do you have to have in your mouth before you go from mostly straight to mostly gay? Most of it, I guess.
Nitton was a medical student doing his residency. Sean was some kind of district sales manager, I believe, for some kind of equipment company maybe? Brian was a Psychologist, mostly.
At close to 2:00, I left Joe talking with the group — with Omar hanging on Shawn, Shawn badgering people to do shots with him, Brian and Joe saying no again and again, and Nitton saying to Shawn, “Don’t badger people into drinking when they don’t want to.”