Obsolete August, a cover band that plays live music at Shuck Daddy's on Wednesday nights, was in the middle of a rendition of Jimmy Buffett's "Margaritaville" when we walked in. To make matters worse, it was a slow-rolling version, almost like a love ballad. The song seemed to be putting the crowd to sleep.
Then the band put a little twist on the lyrics, singing, "Wasting away again in marijuanaville....," which was enough to get a roar out of the people there. It was going to be an interesting night.
And the crowd at Shuck Daddy's -- at 1511 Shepherd Dr. -- was definitely interesting. A quick survey of the bar when we first sat down produced a man in a cowboy hat with his girlfriend/wife; a younger guy with a mohawk and leather bracelet; a woman in an AC/DC shirt; a group of guys pounding Budweisers, wearing the blue work shirts of air conditioner repairmen; and two guys eating crab legs, talking about the stock market. Other than the leather bracelet guy, no one looked younger than 30.
The waitresses -- we didn't see any guys -- wear tank tops with things like "Half Shell Hotties" and "Shuck-a-licious" printed across the chest, along with short, denim shorts/mini-skirts. A hyper waitress greeted us with, "Welcome to Shuck Daddy's," as soon as we walked in, telling us to sit where we wanted. It was enough to make us think the restaurant is going for a Hooters-type vibe.
"None of these waitresses are attractive, almost like they went out of the way to not hire anyone attractive," our dining companion said between gulps of beer. "At least the happy hour prices are good."
Shocked at his rudeness, we slammed down our own beer. "Yes, at least the happy hour prices are good."
And on Wednesday, there's Obsolete August.
The band had just finished a version of Garth Brooks's "Thunder Rolls," complete with simulated thunder by the bass player, when we were finishing our crawfish. After another song, when the crowd didn't clap or make much noise at all, the singer said, "If you don't clap, we're playing bad songs." The band then launched into "Achy Breaky Heart."
"Yeahhhhhh," a group at a picnic table next to the bar cheered, coming alive and singing along. "Play some Toby Keith! Toby Keith!"
It was all getting to be too much, when a 40-something woman in a red business suit and black turtleneck sat down at the bar next to us. She ordered fish tacos, spinach dip, and a couple glasses of white wine.
The band was playing some mix hybrid of "Sweet Home Alabama," "Gin and Juice," and "Peaches" by the Presidents of the United States of America.
"Have you ever been here before?" we leaned over and asked the woman.
"No. It seems like it would be a good place to watch a big game," she said. "Have you?"
"Nope, first time," we told her.
"Yeah, I just stopped on the way home from the office. I try to check out all the new places around here," she said. "I live right around the corner. Where do you live?"
With that, it was time to leave.
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