On a lazy Friday evening, I decided to check out a new music venue in Kyle, TX near the Missouri-Pacifc Railroad, appropriately called Down South Railhouse. I am a notorious early bird, so finding entertainment in the greater Austin area that starts before 9 pm is an essential challenge to my social life. Not many people in their twenties and thirties have this demanding time restriction, so the crowd of people that make it out to shows that start at 7 or 8 are small and/or older. This I don’t mind as I get along fabulously with people that are older than me and I don’t like large crowds- but more often than not, I end up meeting the strangest person possible within a 100 meter radius.

This particular evening a new acquaintance of mine, Manzy, was performing a solo acoustic show. He is a singer songwriter type, so more of a saddle up and listen, kind of show. He was already playing when I walked in the door and took time to say hello and ask about the condition of the truck I had recently wrecked and whined about on social media. After confirming that my beloved truck “Juke-Box Johnny” was indeed, deceased, I went to the long oaky bar top to remember Johnny with a whiskey and water. Down South Railhouse is a little place that meshes all of the nostalgic ideals of what you would find in a saloon. Wood floors, High top chairs, glowing beer signs, a little stage off set in the corner with a small space for dancing– and most importantly, a large outdoor porch area.

After listening to Manzy for a handful of songs, I went out to the porch for a cigarette. I walked outside and approached, in typical Meredith manner, a table of Mexican mechanical workers because they seemed friendly, and indeed they were! I had the truck wreck topic handy to talk about with these two men as we collectively took 18 minutes out of our lives with our best friend Mr Marlboro. Mid-auto mechanic conversation, a girl around my age came out and bummed a cigarette from me. Her way of speaking was harsh and obnoxious, similar to how she applied her eyeliner. Her name was Nicole and she was quick to prove how impressive and interesting she thought she was. She asked if I’d like to join her at a table inside with a friend of hers, I accepted as I decided I had filled my socially acceptable quota of bull shitting with old mechanic stranger men.

Inside, I was introduced to Nicole’s friend, Mallory, who was not necessarily very welcoming as I joined their table. I sat and the two girls jumped right back into the topic they had obviously been discussing before Nicole had went out for a smoke.

“We tell each other everything- we’re like best friends and so in love, so I’m okay with him sleeping with other women when he’s on the road, I just wish my best friend would stop sleeping with him!” admitted Mallory.

“It’s all that bitch’s fault, she’d screw anything that walks- he loves YOU though.” Nicole offered as consolation.

Mallory began to cry and said something about needing a shot. Feeling completely disinterested in where this conversation was going, I offered to buy a round of shots for the two girls as an escape method from the table. As soon as the shots were delivered, I snuck back out to the porch and my old amigos asked why I had left the girl’s table.

“Man, girls freak me out. I can’t handle that shit.” I said as I got another cigarette lit.

Just as the two men began to laugh- a woman ran up from behind me and yelled, “I HATE GIRLS TOO!” as she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed.She had large boobs on a tiny framed body and as she hugged me, I noticed that they felt like she had stuffed big bags of rice into her bra. She pulled away and with her wild eyes and no lack of rouge on her cheeks, she explained how women were always jealous of her, and that other moms at her son’s school had spread a rumor that she was a stripper, then she introduced herself as Denise. Managing the shock of this introduction, I tried to not let my face reflect my thoughts as she continued.

“The worst was when I flew home to Illinois and my sister picked me up at the airport, she couldn’t stop looking at my butt! She’s just jealous cause I lost 200 pounds and I look better than her.” Denise told me, “ I weighed 295 two years ago and got lap band surgery, now I weigh 100 pounds and I’m a model!”

I had learned more about this woman than I cared to know in a total of about 2 minutes. It was intense, but she had me cornered so I said to her, “That’s impressive! Congratulations, I’ve heard lap band surgery recovery is tough.”

“It is! You have to watch what you eat or you’ll just puke it up. The worst part about it is the extra skin, you have to qualify for skin removal surgery– I’m waiting to get approved.” Denise pulled up her shirt to show me the extra skin hanging from her stomach that had been concealed with Spanx. It was a shocking sight as her exposed arms were thin and her frame did not appear to have any flaws from a clothed perspective. “From all the weight loss, my boobs just kind of sag, so I put rice bags in my bra to pep them up.” How did I know it was rice bags!?

At this point, my auto mechanic amigos had left the Railhouse and I was stuck in a Denise tornado. She kept talking about the cosmetic surgeries she was planning on having done, and kept referencing a small, plump, bizarre man that stood behind her for confirmation.

“My husband’s always jealous when I go out now that I’m a model, isn’t he, Ron?”

Ron would smile and say, “Yes, yes he is.” They were a very odd pair, and I wondered where Denise’s husband was. Ron only spoke when she asked him to and he never had much to say, although later, when Denise let up a little, I learned that he worked the night shift security at the State Mental Institution. I wondered if maybe, they were admitted and had escaped that institution together.

The conversation somehow turned to 80’s metal bands that Ron and Denise enjoyed, or at least, what Denise told Ron he liked. I have little to no interest in 80’s metal music so I decided to change the topic again. “Did you have your nose done as well?” I asked Denise.

“How dare you ask me about my nose!” she said, “What a rude thing to say to a woman!”

Confused as to how nose plastic surgery was off the table, but lap band, skin and breast augmentation were completely appropriate topics… I fished for a way out of this. “It’s just such a perfect nose, I wondered since you had some other procedures, how your beautiful nose was real!” I said, panicked. She was listening with a distraught face but suddenly smiled and said, “How sweet of you!” and continued on the hair band topic. Having survived that ordeal, I decided to head home as my friend was no longer playing music and I had had enough of the circus act.

“Stay one more drink! I’ll buy you one!” they both went inside to get drinks and I tried to run out the back door before they could see me. I grabbed my things and when I got to the back door, I discovered it was blocked off to keep people from sneaking in. I power walked to the front door as they both yelled my name. Pretending to not hear them, I continued outside to the parking lot. Ron found me before I could get to my truck and asked for my phone number. I told him no, thank you, and that I hoped they had a good rest of their night. I have not seen them since, but I sometimes wonder if Denise ever got her new boobs and how her modeling career is going.