I’ve been going to this place called Dewaine’s in Tahlequah. Used to be alowed to smoke inside, but they ended that a couple weeks ago. They serve nothing higher than 3.2% ABV but that’s supposed to end soon. I’m there for the karaoke — what else? Been going for several weeks now. Finally wore my “Jesus Christ Caused 9/11” t-shirt and things got wierd.
I’m no stranger to getting banned from bars, and in this case no such thing happened or will happen. The owner and bartenders want my attendance, and I know this because they explicitly told me as much.
Unlike the bar-folk of Connecticut, the Okies have heard of a little church called A True Church, which comes with some baggage.
It was a Thursday night. Usually the lower turn-out night compared to Friday and Saturday, but this particular night was busy. A fellow singer took responsibility saying, i “I invited some friends to sing.”
I got there at the start. I sang my usual two ii Beatles songs. Not usual in the sense that I sing the same songs every night. In fact, the only song I have repeated at this venue is “Forgot About Dre” by Dr. Dre featuring Eminem — by request; I wouldn’t repeat myself otherwise. iii
I sat at the bar, next to a guy. He wasn’t an associate. I had just met him. Nice fellow. Looked like the kind to ride a motorcycle, not that I’d notice such a distinction, but it’s a plot point — bear with me.
Another guy walks over, and wedges himself inbetween me and my companion. We were close; I don’t mean we had history, but I mean we were literally sitting close at the bar. You know how they bend at the corner? He sat facing the bottles, and I sat facing perpendicular. There’s just enough room for a buddy to butt in. But, in this case a stranger.
Saying something about motorcycles and offering a business card, a stranger situates himself to my side. He’s not talking to me at first, but puting on some pretense to business he has with the other guy. Bla bla bla ten seconds later he’s turned to me.
"Do you know who I am?"
At this point I’m thinking, I’m wearing the shirt. This guy probably think’s he’s a big-shot. He’s about to tell me what’s what about what. That my shirt is who-cares.
"No."
"I’m [her] iv husband."
"O... k."
"Do you know who I am now?"
"Yes."
And that was mostly it. If he said anything else, it wasn’t worth the mention, and he walked away to the other side of the bar. But it was enough to set-off my newfound friend, the aforementioned bar neighbor, who assured me he’d have my back if things got rough.
It is worth the mention that I had never met this guy or his alleged wife. I don’t know how they knew my association with her former saints. Yes, the shirt. But this isn’t an isolated incident. v
The anti-climatic end to this tale is that nothing else happened, except that I sang a few more songs to an unusually unresponsive audience, and then a guy told me “Jesus didn’t cause that; muslims did!” I left shortly after, and the bartender followed me to my truck to assure me I was still welcome.
A few weeks afterwards, a guy told me he heard rumors that I was part of a cult. I said, “well.. I sorta am.” And he said, astonished, “you admit it!?” The finer point being that a church teaching the true word of God will appear to the world as being a cult.
- Paraphrasing. I didn’t take notes or record anything. This whole story is to the best of my recollection. ^
- On slow nights, the KJ lets us sing two songs per turn. And every night is a slow night, even when it isn’t. ^
- Since I began writing this, I have done a few more repeats. It’ve been sitting on this draft for a couple months. ^
- A woman who was once in truth. Who I, because of his inquisition, noticed was in attendance at said bar. ^
- I recently had to take down a number of old articles, most importantly the one on beating wives. A newly outcast member cited my wife-beating views as one of a couple reasons he didn’t feel comfortable being associated with our church. A view which was apparently not shared with the rest of the fellowship. Let it be known, I didn’t concede without a fight. I presented my scriptural references. They, theirs. When the dust settled, I had to admit defeat. Perhaps an ungodly man can beat his wife within the letter of the law, but a godly man should find no reason. ^