I was sitting outside, blurry eyed with sick, trying to figure out what to post for the day.

That is when I heard something very muffled but to my ear it was clear as a day. A song I have heard (and sang) a million times.

And that brought up a pretty funny memory that was perfect to share with the Blockchain.

Let's set the scene.

So many moons ago while I was in school for Aircraft Maintenance, I decided to go on a date with a fellow grease monkey. He was a hilarious guy and the first thing I noticed was that he had a hat on full of pins.

I saw Red Dwarf, Battlestar Galactica, and all sorts of nerdiness on it.

So when he asked if I would like to go out for a drink, I couldn't say no.

We ended up leaving school in late afternoon, going for a bite to eat, and somehow, we found ourselves at a hole-the-wall Veteran biker bar. On poker night.

It looked like something out of the movies. It was filled with cigar and cigarette smoke, smelled like various alcohol had soaked into the very floor. The packed bar looked at us strangely as we entered.

It was clear that there was a regular crowd and we were not part of it.

So we staked ourselves a discreet spot at the end of the bar and ordered a couple shots of whiskey while we watched some of the card games. And attempting to be... unobtrusive.

I should preface this by saying I've never had Red Stag before.

If you've never had it, it is black cherry bourbon whiskey. It is pretty delightful and quite sweet. And it sneaks up on you.

Especially when you have about 8 of them in a row.

Soon we were red nosed, half leaned over the bar, mingling, and giggling like little kids. We bought some shots for some of the rough and tumble people kicking around the space. We watched the poker tournament wrap up and bought another round, figuring it was time to stumble our way to our respective abodes.

But that was when a biker by the name of "Rufus" got on the microphone and announced that karaoke was about to begin.

Drunk biker veterans singing karaoke? I'll take another round, please and thank you!

The performances I saw that evening should have been on Bikeys Got Talent. They were strutting around the stage, throwing leather vests in the air, and hitting every note. (Not to say that they actually hit the note correctly, there was warbling and caterwauling but every second was enjoyable.)

And that was when my date turned to me, reeking of booze, and slurred:

"You should sing!"

Oh god... oh, no.

I adamantly refused on the grounds that these veterans had probably seen a lot of terrible things, but nothing compared to me butchering a song.

I lit a cigarette, turned away, and had a small conversation with a girl at the bar. When I turned around again, my date had somehow amassed a group through either bribery or offering of a hilarious show ... and they were now all calling for me to pick a song and get on the stage.

Peer pressure. It is a thing.

The next thing I know, I am sweating out pure whiskey under blue and pink stage lights, holding a microphone, and wondering where I had gone wrong. How I caved to pressure like some kid in an after-school special. And how on earth I decided to let my drunken trouble maker of a date pick the song on top of it.

I looked around the room of stern, war-weary faces. They looked back at me like I owed them money.

My date skipped onto the stage and plopped his hat on top of my head right as the music started.

And then I froze.

Alcohol, terror, and mortification pulsing through my whole body.

That was when something unexpected happened. Someone from the back yelled "It's okay! You'll be great!"

The crowd clapped lazily in what was obviously meant to be encouragement but came across as lackluster. Then I realized a couple things.

1. I'll probably never see most of these people ever again.

2. If they don't care, why the hell should I?

That was when the music started.

He knew just enough about me to completely fuck me in the karaoke department. It was, indeed, a song I knew by heart. And it was a perfect one for the crowd at large. That wasn't the problem.

The problem was that he picked aEIGHT MINUTE SONG for my debut performance.

I started out singing quietly until I found "my voice".

Not too long into the song, trying not to piss my pants with nerves and embarrassment, I finally opened my mashed closed eyes. The people at the bar had started to sway. I could see couples singing it in duet.

As the song progressed, I had almost an entire bar of grey-haired men and women singing with me.

By god, I even saw a zippo lighter being waved in the air.

"BYE BYYYYYE MISS AMERICAN PIE, DROVE MY CHEVY TO THE LEVEE BUT THE LEVEE WAS DRY..."

I started to dance and move around the stage. I remember tossing the hat into the group with bravado. I kind of recall seeing another woman pull it onto her head and continue to pound a beer in the way that I believe Rambo would.

I was PUMPED.

They didn't even care that I couldn't really sing! They were having a blast right there with me!

And when the final notes rang out, I stood there, sweating like a whore in church. I began to walk off the stage and that was when those that were capable to stand in their inebriation... did.

They began to clap, and cheer.

Holy shit I just got a standing ovation from drunken bikers and war veterans!

... The hat was never recovered. And I misplaced a lighter and blew out my shoe.

But overall... I would say that was the best time I've ever had embarrassing myself!

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Gif credit to giphy!