Daniel P. Barron

Banned from the Westbrook Elk’s Club

Sunday, April 8, 2018

Incase you didn’t know, I like to sing karaoke. Back when I lived in Connecticut, there were a few places I liked to hit up. Wednesday was at Doc’s Bar and Grilli in Clinton, Thursday was at The Rabbit Holeii in Old Saybrook, Friday was at The Comfort Cafeiii in Old Saybrook, and Saturday was at the Elk’s Club in Westbrook. Karaoke is the only reason I’d ever go to an “Elk’s Club.” The place could be cool; it’s a private club, which means they are legally allowed to permit smoking indoors, but the retards voted it out. Being a private club, that means you need to be a paying member, or get signed in by one, and I would always get signed in by the KJ. They knew me from other venues and it was no big deal. Until I wore that most offensive shirt — the “Jesus Christ Caused 9/11” one.

I only wore it there one time. Almost everyone there gave me a dirty look. One woman did a drive by shaming with a “don’t ever wear that shirt here again,” walking off before I could respond. A former grand exhaulted ruler or whatever they call the main guy had a conversation with me. We knew eachother from a mutual interest in karaoke. He was cool with it after hearing the explaination; anyone who bothered to talk to me came to understand the meaning. Not many people bothered to talk though; they are mostly cowards. There would be murmuring and gossip behind my back. One guy almost mustered the nerve to tell me off with a “I want to talk to you outside,” but never followed up on it. Big whoop though, I kept showing up most Saturdays to sing. Months went by.

One night, I’m sitting outside The Deckiv smoking a cigarette, waiting for a friend to come back out with some crack cocainev that he bought from someone inside. The place had just made last call, and everyone was pouring out the doors. A girl comes up to me and asks, “hey aren’t you that guy who sings at the Elk’s Club?” Yeah, that’s me. “Oh, well I work there and they just had a vote tonight about you. Members aren’t allowed to sign you in anymore.” Oho! Took them long enough.

The Elk’s Club is a half-assed cult, with a false religion to boot. In order to be a member, you must affirm a belief in some sort of God. It’s kinda like Alcoholic’s Anonymous actually. Well the idiots there, without ever talking to me about it, assumed my 9/11 shirt was some sort of atheist statement. I was banned on the grounds that I don’t believe in God! What a sweet ending. I had a good long laugh.

  1. I also went there for a weekly poker tournament on Mondays. The owner played too; we were on good terms. To his credit, he never kicked me out even though I sang some rough songs after he asked me not to.
  2. Rabbit Hole also had karaoke on Wednesday, but Doc’s was better. To their discredit, they eventually banned me. I’ll get into that in another article. Also, Thursday used to be at The Blue Crab in Old Saybrook, but I stopped going after the bartender cut me off half way through “Forgot About Dre” by Dr. Dre featuring Eminem. Sure it was Easter weekend, but some couple there specifically requested that I sing it. I paid my tab and left, and the couple also walked out!
  3. Saturday too, but at the time I liked to mix it up, plus I liked the Friday KJ better than the Saturday one. Cool place by the way. It’s a dive bar that’s part of a Quality Inn. The bartender is really cool. She let’s me sing whatever I want.
  4. The kind of bar that attracts college age kids, with a guy checking your ID at the door. Funny side-story: one time I walked right past the bouncer and had neat Hennessy in my hand before he could catch up with me. He got all upset like I was in big trouble or something. I gave him my ID, acting like “whoops didn’t know better” because seriously, most bars card you at the bar if they are even gonna bother. Then I said, “if you’re gonna make a big thing out of this, I just won’t ever come back.” The bartender quickly intervened, pacified the bouncer.
  5. What can I say, it was a crazy summer.

One Response

  1. Anonymous

    ya

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