Moose Lodge Karaoke

This past Friday night found me at the nearby Moose Lodge in Vinton. The quaint little white building at the hill of a busy intersection was adorned with a crowded parking lot, and I made my way in through the locked door after they buzzed me in. I smiled my hello at the overly-suspicious senior citizen guarding the entrance, then headed to the bar. It was Karaoke night, and the bartender let me know there was a live band downstairs in the dance hall. The natives were definitely restless.

I ran into some friends, and they invited me to sit with them at their table. Several of them got up to sing, and one of the girls in the little group asked me if I had ever done Karaoke. I confessed I'd sang before, and she asked me what song was my favorite. I told her the only song I really knew was "Devil Went Down To Georgia" by Charlie Daniels.
Her eyes got big, her voice got louder and higher in pitch as she shrieked "Oh, do it! Do that one! Do it! Will you do it?!" I couldn't help but laugh at her enthusiasm, and I tried to reassure myself it was normal for her to be just a little too excited. I finally agreed to do the song for her, and I figured if it didn't go over well, at least it would be a chance for me to get on stage and let everyone in the room know I could speak English.

About half an hour later, the cellphone-enhanced Karaoke guy blurted out my name in his best radio DJ voice. I took to the stage with cheers and motivational "Git-r duns" from my table. When I got to the stage, I walked over to the Karaoke guy for the microphone, then walked over to the monitor to get ready. I motivated myself to give the crowd my best performance. All sorts of questions ran through my mind - Would I dance? Would I play air guitar? Would I get an infection from the microphone? My inspiration was cut short, however, when the Karaoke guy took me aside to ask that I don't cuss during the song. He went on to explain how there was a line in the song that said the "B" word, and he didn't want me to say it. I was a bit disappointed with the creative constraints, but I pressed on.

My song started. I read along as best I could, and I felt comforted by the half dozen people or so who got up to dance. I felt better when I saw them dance. My rationale was if they danced, then I must not sound as bad I thought I did. The song rolled on, and I finally got to the controversial part of the song. When it came time for Johnny to "done tell" the devil once that he's "the best there's ever been", Johnny graciously addressed old fiddle-playin' Lucifer as "you son of a gun" rather than with the original expletive. I decided to live on the edge when I opted to use son-of-a-gun instead of son-of-a-gosh. The song was finally over, there came the obligatory applause, and I made my way back to my table. The motivated girl who'd practically begged me to sing congratulated me, and reassured me I did a great job. A few minutes later, the very same girl turned to me and once again asked me in her most overly-emphatic way if I sang, and what song I was going to sing. (Insert speechless blank look here.)

I looked closely into her eyes and realized she was drunk. She had probably been drunk for a good while, and I can't believe I hadn't noticed it. ("But she looks so normal," whined the voices in my head.)

I knew it was going to be an interesting night after that.