Our destination: Bahama Bob's in Tampa. How did we find Bahama Bob's? The Internet, of course.
Now finding a karoake bar on the internet is a lot like finding a date on the internet... you pick out of a sea of eligibles, you make plans, you are nervous and excited on the way there, and when you finally meet in person, you are confronted with a terrible disappointment.
Only most internet dates don't involve a three-hour broken-down bus-trip, sing-a-longs, a hundred-year old bus driver named Jim who fixes engines by banging them with his cane, a detour through a trailer park, a frosty keg of Foster's, mutiny planning, and little to no air-conditioning for hours.
Starting at the Office Max on East 50, we made it all the way past International Drive before breaking down in the Emergency Lane on I-4. It got so hot for those of us sitting in the backseat on top of the overheated engine, we were all convinced that we would die. Kenny Beaumont selflessly volunteered to be the first one eaten if it came down to that. Thirty minutes later, we made it to the Lake Buena Vista 7-11 and watched Jim, the driver, and his assistant, as they poured gallons and gallons of water into the engine on the back of the bus while we ate ice cream and talked about our recent near-death experience.
On the road again, cooler and happier, we sang songs accompanied by first Kenny on guitar and then Donovan, who only made his way to the back after hearing us singing Garth Brooks. We then broke into some Blue Meridian song renditions.
When we finally got to Tampa, the a/c broke again, and it took
us no time at all to get lost. (Did I happen to mention that we got the directions to the
bar from the internet, too?) Calling AT&T Double O Info wasn't much help, considering
the name of the place had been changed from Bahama Bob's to something entirely different.
Donovan thought the new name might be Jack's Patio. No listing for Jack's Patio, either.
When we finally arrived shortly after midnight after questioning several convenience store
workers as to the location of the "Old Bahama Bobs", the real name turned out to
be Frank's Place.Frank's was a tiny, shack-like, bar in an old mini-strip mall, surrounded by homes with bars on the windows. To the group of us on the bus, though, it was Wally World. We clamored off the hot bus and hurried into Frank's Place. Once inside it was difficult to see through the smoke and difficult to hear over the sixty-five year old lady who was belting out a Backstreet Boys tune.
