Marshall, IL. That Is All.

So the girls and I (along with Prue’s boyfriend) went to see Stacy’s boyfriend, Elvis perform his comedy act on Friday night.

Elvis is a freakin’ hilarious comic and he travels all over the country making people laugh at the story of his life. We have been to see him a few times before and we were excited to see him again.

We made our way to Marshall, IL, a town I don’t know much about (except that is near Paris, IL) and as we made our way through the streets of Marshall, we were carefully looking for the venue, a place called The Corner Bistro. We passed Fourth Street and according to our GPS it was on the right and we didn’t see it anywhere, just a dive bar with a Bud Light sign on the front and we were confused. We turned around and looked again and that was about the time that reality set in and we realized the dive bar was The Corner Bistro.

Bistro?

I don’t think that word means what they think it means.

After making our way around what seemed like the town drunks, we entered the “bistro” and all eyes were on us. Well, probably me and Prue’s boyfriend (who is also black). It was then that we all realized (well maybe just me because I didn’t know any better) that Marshall liked to keep things “light” and I was immediately instructed not to get myself into a bar fight.

I should explain, about a month back, Stacy, Prue, Prue’s boyfriend (don’t have a name for him yet…workin’ on it) and I went to Brazil, IN to see Elvis perform (I know, Paris, IL and Brazil, IN…the Wabash Valley likes to stay international). Brazil also likes to keep things light, but they can’t exactly turn the blacks away like they did in the fifties. We have a black president now, no one is allowed to be overtly racist anymore and Brazil, IN (along with Marshall, Il) has to do what the rest of the country does about racism: focus it on the Muslims or just be incognito (OK, disgusted social commentary mode is off).

Anyway, we were listening to the comics (none of whom were better than Elvis) and one of them was a black guy most likely around my age and he was super funny telling jokes about black things and how white people are intrigued by them. I was cracking up because growing up I was usually one of two or the only black going through school and I knew about the White Intrique. Then (of course) he made joke about chicken that sent me over the edge and a woman at the table next to me said “Is that your son?”

I absolutely could not believe it! I know that black don’t crack, but this was kind of ridiculous!

I looked at her and I told her no. Then I said “Do I look like his mom?” She said that I was getting quite animated and thought that it was because he was my son. It was clear that this woman was not right in the head. I mean, what was she thinking? Does she think black girls have kids as young as four or five? I looked at the crazy lady and said “No, he is not my son. He is funny and I am laughing. I also understand where he is coming from because I am black like him,” in the most condescending tone I could muster. That was when one of the guys at her table said “You’re black? I didn’t notice” and channeling Asian Jim I looked at him (possibly with daggers in my eyes) and replied “hats off to you for not noticing race” and turned back to my friends.

I was still annoyed by the woman’s ignorant comments and I was loudly proclaiming this to everyone and Prue’s boyfriend was trying to shush me. He (unlike me) had a healthy amount of fear in him about being a black in Brazil, IN and not only that; he was the darker half of an interracial couple.

The night went on with them being loud and obnoxious and me letting them know how rude I thought they were and Prue’s poor boyfriend keeping his eye on the exit and ensuring there will be a way out when the time came. I am sure if a bar brawl had been initiated, I may have taken them down and then gone to jail so I am glad the evening never came to blows…well, at least the physical kind.

So my friends were justified in their warning and Prue’s boyfriend was right to make sure there was a way out.

Stacy and Elvis were happy to see us and immediately apologetic because they’d gotten word that the show was gonna cost $20. When we see Elvis, we usually don’t pay more than 5 bucks (or at all) so we were a little surprised because despite the name of the place, we were a dive bar (Hole’s Bar Hole is what Elvis named it) that wanted to be a bistro.

In Marshall, IL.

Not Indy.

Most definitely not Chicago.

Somehow, we managed to get a deal at 2 for $30 and we were led into a room that Stacy described as “pole barn meets crack den” with couches that looked like cars and weird red tables that had uncomfortable chairs and glass table tops that I am pretty sure someone was just doing a line of coke on.

Awesome. If the cops bust this place, Prue is gonna have to bail me and her boyfriend out of jail…I am sure we will get blamed for all the crimes.

The show starts and the warm-up act was kind of awful and the sound system was worse than that, but we got through it and Trix gave the sound guy some pointers on reducing the amount of feedback we were hearing--I would think a sound guy would know that…especially at twenty bucks a pop!

The sound never improved (I don’t think my eardrums will ever recover), but the jokes did once Elvis hit the stage and we laughed and laughed.

And laughed.

While we were all having a pretty good time and his set was awesome, we couldn’t help but think it was running a little long but no one else seemed to mind so we just went with it.

At some point the thought occurred to Stacy that we’d paid more than  three times the amount we usually pay to see Elvis’ comedy and we were sitting in a room that was possibly used for the previous night’s rave listening to jokes through bleeding eardrums and he wanted to give us our money’s worth.

How sweet!

I’m pretty sure Stacy fell in love with him all over again.

And I fell very deeply in like.

Since he couldn’t possibly go all night (that’s what she said), the show ended and the comedy club turned into a dance club. The DJ started playing his songs and there were some pretty wicked colorful strobe lights (CeeCee was transfixed and I think it made her the happiest I had seen her all evening…maybe she got some of that leftover coke on the table?)

We on that dance floor acting like we were twenty five and we were stone sober.

The “bistro” didn’t take cards and didn’t have an ATM so we had to use all of our cash for the comedy show.

For real, I don’t think that word means what they think it means.

Despite our sober and cash poor state, we were having a great time on the dance floor. I mean, how often do the people of Marshall get to see an honest to goodness black woman busting a move on the dance floor…and it is not in a movie?

When we were doing the Cupid Shuffle we were doing the kick a little differently (because that’s the way we do it on karaoke nights), I turned to CeeCee and said “I am sure they think that they are doing it wrong because I am black and just have to know how to dance.” I looked up and saw a woman trying to figure out our kick. Stereotypes are awesome.

It came time for the Wobble and I was super excited because I was late to karaoke last Wednesday night and I missed it. When the song started, it was just CeeCee, Stacy, Trix and me doing the dance and everyone around us just watched. I was beginning to think that maybe they didn’t know there was a dance attached to the song they’d obviously heard at least once.

Before long, there were people on the side of the dance floor watching us and practicing before joining us on the dance floor.

Now I know how Elle Woods must have felt when she taught the Bend and Snap to the beauty shop.

I was so proud my friends and I could bring the Wobble to Marshall, IL.

Maybe they will be nicer to black people from now on and Prue’s boyfriend won’t be worried about the exits anymore.

I am always glad when I can aid in changing the lives of small, slightly racists towns.

Especially through dance.

Now I know how Kevin Bacon feels.