Tell Your Children Not to Walk My Way
I went back home to Atlanta a few months ago because I love it there, and also to visit my friends and family. My first night back, I went out with my boyfriend Andy and my friends Millie and Sonji, and after enjoying a delicious Mexican meal that included the elusive white cheese dip that sadly cannot be found at Mexican restaurants anywhere outside of the Southeastern United States, Millie suggested we go do karaoke.
We headed to a bar that offered metal karaoke, during which you were backed by a live band — awesome. Upon our arrival, we walked straight to the sign-up area in the back of the room to secure our songs; there stood a chalkboard listing the tunes offered, and once one was chosen it was immediately crossed out in order to prevent repeats. Andy chose something from Iron Maiden, Millie chose Cheap Trick, and I chose my karaoke staple (both due to my unladylike Barry White-esque vocal range and my uncanny resemblance to the singer): Danzig’s “Mother.”
A few minutes later, with songs chosen and drinks in hand, I saw a guy who looked like Carlton from “The Fresh Prince of Bel Air” approaching me with pleading eyes.
“Hey, she said,” (pointing to the woman in charge of taking song requests) “that you chose ‘Mother’ as your song?”
“Yeah…?” I replied.
“Can I have it? Please?” he asked.
“Uh…”
“Please? My 65-year-old mother is coming down here to watch me sing it, and it’s the only song she wants to hear me sing.”
“Wait, what? Your mom wants to come see you sing Danzig? It’s not exactly a pro-mom song, you know…”
“Please? She’s 65 and she really wants to come see me sing this. She’s on her way here now. Please? I’ll give you money! How much do you want?” he begged.
“What? No! That’s crazy; you don’t need to give me money. Of course you can have the song, it’s fine.”
“THANK YOU! What do you want to go sing instead? I’ll go tell the woman your next choice,” he offered.
“No, that’s cool. I don’t really want to sing anything else.”
“Let me get you a drink then,” he countered.
“No, that’s okay. You can just have the song. It’s no problem,” I insisted.
He walked off and I turned to everyone to give them the minutes of the meeting, and we were all pretty baffled. At this point it was about 11:30pm on a weeknight, so we were all wondering what 65-year-old was trying to come out to a bar to watch their grown-ass adult son sing a song written by a guy who used to front a band known for ditties about raping moms and killing babies. It made no sense, but this guy seemed desperate, so what kind of jerk could have said no to that? Not I.
We sat back and enjoyed some of the other singers until it was time for our crew to take the stage; Andy killed “Run to the Hills,” and Millie tore up “Surrender.” Then, for what was to be my turn, the band started playing a different jam. “Weird, maybe I was supposed to be up later,” I thought. But then Carlton walked on stage, grabbed the mic, and started singing an entirely different fucking song than the one he begged me to give up.
All four of us turned to look at each other and all four of us had the same look on our faces. “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!” I yelled. “How is that guy going to BEG me for a song that he isn’t even going to sing?! What kind of a DICK MOVE is that?!” I was inordinately furious; I mean, it was a karaoke song we were dealing with, but still, why make a huge effort to talk somebody out of something you don’t even want?!
After he was finished with a song different than the one he’d stolen from me earlier (Rage Against the Machine’s “Killing in the Name,” if you’re curious) and walked off stage, I marched up to him and screamed in his face (I honestly couldn’t believe how enraged I was over a song — it was shocking), “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!”
“What do you mean?” he asked, feigning innocence.
“WHAT?! WHY would you tell me some elaborate lie to get a song that you don’t even want to sing?!” I said, still shouting.
“Why did you lie to her? What a DICK MOVE,” my dutiful boyfriend yelled. Millie and Sonji backed me up as well, as the four of us stayed in this dude’s face, looking for an explanation for his shadiness.
“I didn’t lie! My mom IS coming! She’s on her way! I’m singing ‘Mother’ as my second song,” he explained.
“WHAT?! How selfish is that?!” I asked, still yelling. “Your SECOND turn?! You didn’t say that in your earlier plea, man. I gave up my song to you because I thought this was the ONE CHANCE your mom had to see you sing it. Why lie about that to get a damn karaoke song you were just too late to choose on your own?!”
“I’m not lying! My mom is on her way right now! I just talked to her!”
“NO FUCKING WAY is that happening. It’s 1 a.m. right now. You’re trying to tell me your 65-year-old mother is out driving to a bar to come see you sing a DANZIG song in the middle of the night?! There is no way that is true.”
“It is! I just talked to her! Do you want me to call her? I’ll call her right now so you can hear for yourself!”
“I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOUR FUCKING MOM!”
And with that, we left.
