I'm not what you'd call a 'regular' by any means, but as a young coach I was sent on the road quite a bit to scout upcoming opponents (learned a lot of football). There'd usually be two or three of us and we went all over central and east GA. After the scouting was done and the notes organized, we'd find a watering hole prior to the trip home. On one occasion, a new coach that was with us on a trip to Warner Robins suggested we stop by a little place right off the interstate called "Cafe Erotica" (Must've been linked to the joint in Micanopy). The two semis and the roofing company truck in the parking lot was our sign that this would be a first class establishment. After paying five bucks to get in, we were seated at this four-seater mini-bar with a cage on top. We shared it with one of the truckers who had a dirty Bravo Fertilizer hat and a black ZZ Top beard (there was no Duck Dynasty at that time). He was enjoying a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs and sausage (at 11:30 pm) with a pitcher of draft as he waited for the next performer. Our waitress quickly told us that if we weren't drinking, we weren't staying. As the designated driver, this put me in a bind. That is, until she said I had to drink something. Not drinking sodas at the time, I was relieved to find they served chocolate milk. I could stay. After a few minutes, the young lady assigned to our cage climbed in wearing a bath robe and the cage door was locked behind her (for her protection or ours?). She engaged in some small talk...where y'all from, what do y'all do for a living, etc. Unfazed, the trucker kept right on shoveling the scrambled eggs. Finally, the song she punched into the jukebox sounded and off came the bath robe. As a Zepplin fan, I immediately recognized the strains of "In the Evening." Seven-plus minutes of artistic interpretation lay ahead (I hoped she was in shape). Though she was writhing seductively in front of us, the trucker had yet to look up from his meal. I suppose the little teddie she was wearing didn't pique his interest as much as the coaching staff. Evidently, she noticed him not noticing her and suddenly it was time for everything to come off. At that moment, she turned around and bent over in front of the trucker, slapping her backside to get his attention, which it did. The trucker looked up, momentarily mesmerized. It was as if he had stared at the Gorgon and was turned to stone. After a minute, his paralysis subsided and he turned to the three of us, flecks of egg in his beard, and pointing at her "road to glory," he said "Boys...that's where it all happens!" We fell about the place! Of course we recognized this as the evening's high water mark, politely tipped the young lady, high-fived our new found Svengali, and prepared to head south far more enlightened than when we arrived. But the real pinnacle was still in front of us, for in walked legendary pro wrestler Tommy "Wildfire" Rich, who had just finished a match down the road in Perry and was looking to unwind. As a kid that grew up watching wrestling in FL and AL, this was like meeting the President. We wound up staying and visiting a bit longer. What an evening. It just goes to show that there is learning and culture to be found in the unlikeliest of places, all made possible by the great game of football! *Edit* Feel free to share!