A Metro Pulse reader wonders: Could Vic 'n' Bills be our gateway to utopia?
by Becky Napier White
Like many loyal homegirls, the question, "What does Knoxville mean to me" conjures a pretty if not one-sided image of what our little town has to offer. For me, that image is a 24-hour deli called Vic 'n' Bills that encapsulates all that is good and true about My Knoxville Experience.
Vic 'n' Bills is actually a small-scale utopian vision of what Knoxville could be with some imagination and a short order cook who could make old copies of The News Sentinel taste good. The adjoining gay disco club provides resonating strains of Top 40 songs remixed to promote maximum danceability; even those who disdain this particular musical genre can't deny that "Barbie World" lends a surreal backdrop to drag queens flirting over omelets doused with Tennessee Sunshine hot sauce.
In dreary reality, many aspects of Knoxville public life seem to be invaded then dictated by orange-and-white clad good old boys backed by both money and power disproportionate to their IQ. In my gorgeous parallel universe/deli, those primed-for-power Anglo collegiates bearing Greek letters actually strive NOT to be conspicuous as they hunker prey-like behind enormous plates of buttered toasts and hamsteaks.
Only in this small pocket of the South does a blonde sorority sister who picks at her salad NOT embody elevated femininity. Drag queens are the real royalty in my utopian Knoxville because they know that a powerful and outrageous woman is a beautiful woman. These fabulous she-males prancing around in knock-off designer dresses have figurative cajones bigger than the tractors they used to drive in Newport! They aren't cutesy little piranhas content to pull subtle manipulations as they carefully maintain a golden girl image. If these big ladies find fault with you, they'll either snub (royalty can maintain a certain aloofness) or knock the hellfire out of you. Drag queens contribute to a khaki pants loving, Hootie and the Blowfish listening Knoxville what Tennessee Sunshine hot sauce does for a Vic 'n' Bills grilled bacon and cheese on white.
Then there are stereotypes that dictate Knoxville love is embodied by a man and woman settling down in a West Knox suburb to nominate Ralph Reed for the Republican primaries and buy Garth Brooks CDs. You can bet that the images of love greeting you at Vic 'n' Bills will debunk that tired notion! When I see two post-adolescents with body art and multiple piercings exchanging heated caresses unfettered by fears of judgment from a repressive society, I want to applaud! Even if they are a hetero couple, these folks would stand out like Darby Crash trapped at a Vols game in non-utopian Knoxville. When the couple is of the same sex or different colors, it does for my soul and the sheer atmosphere of Vic 'n' Bills what a partially melted slice of American cheese does for a Vol Burger...adds a sorely needed element! (Not to imply a Vol Burger isn't delicious completely naked.)
Speaking of what is sorely needed, Vic 'n' Bills provides one of the only (and undoubtedly tastiest) non-franchise Knoxville eateries where one can eat at 3 a.m. Certainly this means they are hosting a lot of hungry club kids, but considering this is still the Deep South you know the Fashion police will be writing citations. Sure, there are the obligatory beautiful people looking fashionably alternative, but my deli/utopia is ruled by something earmarked with less...studied nonconformity. I am talking about T-shirts with the Taco Bell dog, tight-fitting acid washed jeans, moussed perms, and big mouths. These types with bravado-tinged Southern accents who smirk at foreign film loving, pseudo intellectuals like myself and say, "Yeah I love that alternative shit, you like White Zombie?" are to quote their favorite expression, "the bomb." They like what they like and yell when they want to yell. For being a constant representation of one version that punk rock can take, they get a place in my deli/utopia even if they smoke too many generic cigarettes and never buy anything.
If I could isolate the biggest reason I wish Knoxville as a whole was more like Vic 'n' Bills (besides the easy availability of spinach Feta pitas with lots of pepper) it would be because there seems to be an unspoken competition for outrageousness existing among the customers.
How many safe well-lighted places can claim that strangeness is not just accepted but redefined as a gorgeous carousel of living performance art? And no one with any real credibility can deny that the food is delicious and priced fairly. If large-scale Knoxville modeled itself after lovely Vic 'n' Bills, it wouldn't need a convention center to lure money-throwing hipsters from San Francisco to Seattle, or spiritually devoid suburbanites seeking enlightenment and a great breakfast served any time of day.
(Becky Napier White is a 26-year-old mom and country housewife. I really am! )
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