So a Bridesmaid Walks into a Bar and Says …


“. . . I’m horribly lost. Could you please tell me how to get to Reflections Banquet Hall?”

I stood in the middle of a dance floor, amidst the confetti light ricocheting off the disco ball suspended from the ceiling, clutching my cell phone in one hand and a bouquet of sunflowers in the other. Granted, I had no idea what had possessed me to bring the bouquet into this establishment, but perhaps my subconscious thought was that the flowers completed the uniform and added legitimacy to my story. Four heads at the bar swiveled in my direction, and the female bartender, obviously recognizing a fellow comrade in trouble, strolled over so she could hear me over the music.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes. You see, I’m supposed to be at a reception right now, but my phone won’t take me to the address listed on the invitation. It keeps sending me here, to Main Street, and I should be on Augusta Highway.”

She eyed my iPhone. “Have you tried calling someone?”

“I only know the bride,” I admitted sheepishly, “and she won’t be carrying her phone around.  She needs to be cutting a cake and mingling with her guests.”

She nodded, told me, “Let me see what I can do,” and went into action. “Hey, Steve!” she yelled over her shoulder while staring at the address on my phone.

“What?” answered a burly guy, coming through a door from the adjoining pool hall.

“You know where Reflections Banquet Hall is?  It’s supposed to be on Augusta Highway.”

“That’s U.S. Highway 1. Can’t be more than a few miles from here. Isn’t it that place out by the old high school?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Could be.” She looked at me. “Hang on a second,” and then she disappeared into the back.

Steve looked me over, his eyes settling on the bling in my hair. “You going to a wedding?”

Gosh, what gave me away?  I shifted my sunflowers to the other hand. “Yes, and I’m already quite late. I’ve been driving around arguing with my phone for half an hour.”

Not the way I wear my hair to school ...

Not the way I wear my hair to school …

The bartender returned with good news. “It is on U.S. 1 out by the school. Here’s what you do.” And then she gave me concise directions that had me crossing the threshold of the reception less than 10 minutes later. Thank goodness for helpful South Carolina people.

The rest of the evening was a success, even though Lauren refused to let me hide during the bouquet toss and called me right out on the floor amongst all the other huddling females who were all born in a different decade than I. Lauren took a bead on my position, flipped around and aimed that flowering missile with enough accuracy to peg me square in the yoking of my dress. Given my stellar skills at catching fly balls, I still missed it; but once it hit the floor, I fielded that grounder beautifully and came up with the prize, much to the disappointment of some very young women.

So all in all, the evening was a triumph. My lovely friend got married, I got two sets of flowers, and the patrons in a South Carolina brewery got a story to tell about the time a bridesmaid walked into a bar.

photo Lauren and I

© 2013 – Traci Carver


16 responses »

    • Usually if I have an experience that falls into the category of nerve-racking, miserable, embarrassing, or frustrating, my next thought is “Hmm . . .” 🙂

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