The Friends You Meet in the Men's Restroom at the Taylor Swift Concert

Sal somehow scored six tickets to Taylor Swift in Nashville. It took her 8 hours of waiting on line, patiently, for everyone else to give up at 5 pm when work was over, but she did it.

We could've made roughly $3000 selling them on the secondhand market, but Sal's not a monster, and let her friends buy tickets for face value. 

We spent a long weekend in Nashville, just sort of bouncing around, checking out the Glen Campbell (he rips) museum, Carter's Vintage Guitars, Third Man Records, Tennessee Brewing Company, Centennial Park, Broadway... you know, Nashville things. 

It was brutally hot the entire time we were there. One of those heats where the sun somehow just seems directly above you in the sky with nothing to block it, even at midnight. It took a ton out of us, especially when we walked about 9 miles on Saturday. 

So on Sunday, when the concert was scheduled, the incoming rain was welcomed. At least it was in the morning, when the forecast said it would only delay the show by an hour and cool down the city by 15 degrees. 

Monkey paw closes and you get what you ask for. 

This wasn't just a quick Midwest thunderstorm. This was a four hour downpour. This is one of those rains where you are so wet that the only thing that will dry you up with a hot shower and towel off. 

Imagine 80,000 15 year old girls cramming onto the outdoor ramps to the Tennessee Titan's football stadium. Rain coming in sideways, drenching them. Lighting dancing across the sky. The wind whipping fierce and cold. 

Security wouldn't let you leave because there was a shelter in place order, but there wasn't enough room on the concourses for people to stay dry. Luckily, I was one of maybe a few thousand men at this show. Luckier still, the overlap of those few thousand men of drinking age was even smaller. 

My buddy Cory and I pushed to the top, found a beer cart that was open, and stood around having a beer while every girl sang Taylor Swift songs at the top of their lungs. Eventually, that beer turned to urine and we needed to use the restroom. 

Because of the demographics I described above, the men's bathroom was empty. Not only was it empty, but it had a heater going. 

It was unspoken at first, but Cory and I were forming ideas. Namely, get another overpriced beer, and let's go hang out in the bathroom. 

Soon other guys started looking at us in our corner, having a good time, and they started thinking, "hmmm... is this something I need to be a part of?" We'd see them wash their hands and then return a few minutes later with a beer of their own. 

After we had grown to about a dozen men, we decided this was now the Men's Room Social Club. Like the Rat Pack, everyone had a role. 

Every now and then a girl would be shuffled into the Men's Room with their boyfriend, covering their eyes like horse blinders so they couldn't see the periphery. One guy from Kentucky always made the same joke about how men don't just wander around with their bits out and that you didn't need to cover your eyes. 

Another guy, from North Carolina, mentioned Tennessee's anti-trans bill every time a girl entered, saying it was now illegal for them to be in there.

There was the dad that was chaperoning what looked like half a dozen girls who kept lying to them saying he was in line for pretzels or drinks. He'd leave after getting off the phone, and I'm assuming to buy whatever he lied about, only to return 10 minutes later to keep hanging out. 

There were the two guys arguing over whether they would end up cancelling the show or not. "There's no way, it cost $50 million to put on each show. There's no way they move it." "Dude, she plays like 3 hours, it's almost 10 pm. There's no way they let her play until 1. They are just keeping us here cause the lightning."

A few of those girlfriends decided none of us cared they were in there and they hung out with the boyfriends. 

OK, so maybe it wasn't Deano and Sinatra, but we were a band of brothers. 

When the announcement that you could return to your seats was finally made, the trashcans in the men's room were filled with Michelob Lite cans. Everyone sort of looked at each other, nodded, and we all parted ways.

And Taylor put on a hell of a show. I don't know if I've seen a stage show anything like it. She played for four hours, trying to make up for the delay. We wearily walked home, getting there by 2 am. 

This is going to be one of those weird memories that I will look fondly on in my old age as memory starts slipping. It just felt like one of those things that sticks with you the rest of your life. Another memory was likely purged to store it, and I'm actually really happy with that.