I saw Ryan Adams in Cincinnati tonight at the Taft. First off, it was phenomenal. A grade a performance, indeed. I can’t wait ‘til I get to see him again.

So I leave Jacey’s hotel room at about 12:30am and return to Florence where I immediately start craving a waffle. So I stop into my home away from home, the Waffle House on 18.

Two cups of coffee and three cigarettes later, I see this huge tour bus pull up right on Highway 18 and I immediately recognize it as the one that was parked outside Taft near Fountain Square. “Holy shit. That’s Ryan Adams,” I say to myself. 

Two guys were sitting a few booths away and they turn to look at the bus and say to me, “Holy shit. I think you’re right.”

So then I see three scruffy hipster men and two ruffian ladies come out of the bus and walk towards my Waffle House. They come in, step up to the counter, and tell sweet, old Julia that they have a rather large order and it’s all to go. 

The men in the adjoining booth and I stare them down as if they are field mice and we are hungry hawks. I ask Cheryl, one of my favorite waitresses, to find out who they’re with, and when she asks, one of the men says that he can’t say, they are only crew members, and they just played a show in Cincinnati. 

Just then, I see a cop car pull up behind the tour bus and a few minutes later, the bus pulls away. I guess that’s what happens when you block an entire highway. Anyway. The crew members see the bus leaving and one of the women steps outside to make a phone call.

So the guys in the other booth tell me to go find out if they’re with Ryan or not. So ballsy little me goes for it. 

“Hi, y’all,” I say in my cutesy Eastern Kentucky twang that seems to get me whatever I want. “I don’t mean to bother you, but do you happen to be with Ryan Adams?”

A tall man with a grumpy disposition looks at the others in the group who eye him speculatively and turn away. “Nope. We’re with the Louvin Brothers. Ever heard of them?” The others snicker and avoid eye contact with me. This asshole thinks he’s stumped me, but clearly he doesn’t know that I can’t be stumped.

“I sure have. My grandpa has some of their old records. I suppose Satan Is Real, seeing as how the two members of the Louvin Brothers are both dead.” (For those that don’t know, ‘Satan Is Real’ is the title of a Louvin Brothers album.) 

So then I say, “Tell Ryan I said hi,” and walk back to my table, leaving their mouths agape and my self confidence boiling into near tears. (Where the Hell do I get snarky replies like that?!)

The crew members carry on with their order and I hear them mention Ryan and Mandy several times. They also asked the waitresses if there were Waffle Houses in Louisville. (Are ya stupid?! Of course there are. Where there are drunks and stoners, there is sure to be a Waffle House.)

About a half hour later, massive quantities of food are served and the crew steps out to meet the bus that had just pulled up to the curb on the opposite side of 18.

And that’s the story of how I insulted one of Ryan Adams’s crew members. 

Hooray!