Bakersfield and Country Music
 

Author's Note:This is a rarity for me, a stand-alone story.I would like to give special thanks to @goducks111 for providing the idea for this story.I did my best to follow his suggestions.I hope you enjoy.

-Nosebone

Friday, August 8, 2019:Bakersfield, CA

I was driving back to my hotel that afternoon after a long day of sales calls. I was more discouraged than I'd been in years. I was on my quarterly tour of the west coast. It was a three-week test of my endurance where I would visit all our heavy-equipment dealerships in Washington, Oregon and California. As a national sales manager, it was my job to show the flag and rally the troops to get them motivated to visit all prospective clients and ensure their needs were met.

My level of discouragement was a result of my visit to our Bakersfield dealership. The sales staff there were undermotivated to say the least. I knew I'd been young and new in the field once, but I'd always showed initiative. When an experienced guy tried to help me, I listened closely and took their advice to heart. Not these fucking kids. On our visit to Higgins Construction, one of the largest road contractors in California, the president openly expressed his frustration with Dylan, my young protégé. I'd worked with Bob and his dad for over 20 years, but Bob didn't bother sugar coating the fact that Dylan was useless at best. It took Dylan weeks to return Bob's phone calls and he never stopped by the office to visit. Then Bob dropped the bomb by saying he'd recently purchased over $38 million in new heavy equipment from Komatsu and had no plans to buy anything from us again.

Once we were alone in the car, I let Dylan have it with both barrels.

"You can't miss opportunities like that, Dylan," I explained.

"It's hard. I'm not really motivated because my commissions haven't been what I thought they would be," he whined. I lost it at that point and pulled the car over on the shoulder of the road.

"Your commissions? You're fucking kidding me, right," I fumed. "You missed a $38 million-dollar sale because you couldn't return the man's phone calls and stop by for a fucking cup of coffee once a week! Do you realize what your fucking commission would have been on that? Do you have any idea what I would have done to have a client like that when I was your age? He was your fucking gravy train and you threw it away."

He looked at me stupidly, which I'd learned was his usual demeanor. Thankfully, he didn't say anything more or I would have made him walk the four miles back. I put the car in drive and took him back to the dealership. Once there, I talked to the branch manager. I told him Dylan better have his shit packed and be gone that afternoon. I then gave the branch manager a stern talk about the way he ran his operation. The rest of the afternoon I made sales calls by myself and found that most of our long-term customers were pissed off. I knew whoever they hired to replace Dylan was in for an uphill battle.

When I got to the hotel, I decided to have a glass of scotch while I typed up my contact reports. I called room service and dinner was sent up while I worked. When I finished, I realized it was almost 8 o'clock. It was too late to call my son unless I wanted to risk the wrath of my ex-wife. I decided I'd call him in the morning and try to keep the peace.

I took a shower and thought about going to bed early. I knew I didn't have to be anywhere tomorrow and wouldn't fly to my next stop until Sunday. I remembered there was a country and western bar across the street that offered live music. I thought I might as well go over and listen for a while. I dressed and was soon walking across the street towards the Palomino Club.

It was a big place and I seemed to remember it from a movie somewhere. I imagined it'd probably hosted some big names over the years. Once inside, I walked to the bar and ordered a beer before I meandered over towards the stage. There was an empty table, but it was right in front and I didn't want to be "that guy" sitting by himself. I looked around and didn't see any other tables, so I finally decided to sit down. I sipped my beer and listened to the first band. They were more blue grass than typical country western, but I really enjoyed the banjo and the stand-up bass. The band looked like they'd probably fit in better in a punk club with their brightly dyed hair and outfits, but they could certainly play. They finished their set and the announcer said that the next act would be on in about 15 minutes. A cute young waitress walked by and I ordered another beer.

After the blue grass band cleared the stage, the next act began setting up their equipment. I sipped my beer and watched them as well as surveying the crowd. I always enjoyed people Van Escort watching. The lights dimmed and a spotlight came on the center stage. The band began strumming an old song, from long before my time. My Dad had been an avid fan of country