The events of February 3rd 2006 Friday February 3rd 2006 began like any other, woken up by the monotone hum of my clock radio set to my “liberal friends at NPR”, as my roommate likes to say. Into work at the fresh morning hour of 10 am, the usual hour late, easily justifiable in my own mind, hardly in those of my employers. This day was of particular notice, for I was preparing for my first trip outside the United States. My first international trip, that is, barring teenage trips to Niagara Falls and Toronto Canada, and one lone daytrip to Tijuana Mexico. My first passport stamp, I couldn’t be more excited. Friday night brought, like many before it, good times with friends. Drinks were a staple which had been become more and more a distraction to me in my later twenties, yet I was immersed in the lifestyle and the convenience of it made for habitual nights out. I have had conversations with many friends on the topic, and we all seem to agree that we’re social alcoholics. Sure we all hold jobs, good ones at that, but the occasional one too many wasn’t as occasional as it was frequent. Red Star in Fells point is where the night began. The cast was particularly deep this evening. Mike and Terri Schorr graced us with their presence. The Schorrs were old work friends who became more and more scarce once a: they got married and bought a house, b: we ended our jobs together, and c: I became immersed in remodeling my own home. A classic tale of maturity. On top of the Schorrs were the usual cast of characters. Shelly and Shannon were like two peas in a pod, always up for a happy hour, or a late night of shenanigans. They worked together still, and Shannon and I are veritable neighbors. Shelly, on the other hand, lives in Silver Spring which often turns into sleep-overs at Shan’s when too much libation supersedes driving. Filling out the cast was Allison, a newcomer to the bunch, but fit in like an old timer, and John Kinna, a brash drunk like the rest of us who liked to show up once in a blue moon. Around 2100 hours the party was transplanted from Red Star to Kelly’s, a hole in the wall during the week turned stage of the drunken stars karaoke bar on Friday and Saturday nights. Kelly’s is a bar built inside of an old row home in Baltimore. Its about 12 feet wide and about 70 feet deep. The karaoke stage is located between feet 50 and 60.You would be hard pressed to create a better atmosphere, especially for me. Cheep booze, dark lights, and a microphone. The best part; it was a two block stumble home, one I have made tens of times. Some I know take a bit of warming up to karaoke when presented with the opportunity. That warming up usually comes in the form of a boiler maker. Not us. Well, we already had our warming up, but when it comes to Kelly’s, we try to get there early before the line gets too long so we can all get our songs in. Shan and I have our staples. For her its either Janis Joplin’s “Boots” or Ozzy’s “War Pigs” a nice classy pairing for an ex hippy turned wanna be family woman. Its especially entertaining to see her rendition of ‘Pigs’ in her Gap tri colored scarf and red cardigan, the domesticated MTV Ozzy would be proud, the bat head biting version is turning in his grave. Couple that with the occasional pink long sleeved tee shirt underneath a black and gold Stiller (yeah, stiller) jersey and pink Chucks and you have Shan’s style. Firmly on the convergence of hippy, jock, and mature woman. Yikes! As for me, my go to has always been “Baby got back” but lately I’ve been trying out some new material. My aforementioned roommate and his band of merry joined us at some unmarked time in the evening. They had had their own warmups at another place of alcohol worship and were ready to unleash their vocal chords on the group of suspecting. Jay was flanked by his lover Ryan with our neighbor Maria and a couple of her friends, who, for the purpose of this article, will remain nameless. All in all we were about 10 deep. Some knew most, none knew all but it mattered not. Some time around 2330, unbeknownst to me, Shelly decided to make that trip to Silver Spring instead of another sleepover. We all bided her adieu for the night and she was off. The carrying on continued. I had been waiting patiently for my turn to sing, and as the minutes turned into hours I was worried that the Jason Schwartzman look-alike DJ wasn’t going to allow me to sing. This made me very un nerved, but not as un nerved as others would be as a result of the events which were to unfold. Shelly, meanwhile was on her way back to Silver Spring. Probably one or two drinks away from the physically unable to operate an automobile list, she proceeded down I 95 towards DC, one of the most heaviest policed roads on the east coast. This was more than enough to keep her occupied before she realized she had left her credit card at Kelly’s holding open her unpaid tab. Struggling to keep two hands on the wheel and two eyes on the road, she fumbled around her purse and grasped her cell phone with her right hand. She dialed. Meanwhile, back at Kelly’s a singer was finishing a half baked rendition of “Like a Virgin” made famous by Madonna, but made forgettable by this character. That’s when I felt a vibration in my pocket. “Hello?” I said. In the distance I heard over sound system “Up Next, Mikey Bee!” Wouldn’t you know it? Mikey Bee is my stage name; I will say nothing more than that to explain it. On the other end of the line was Shelly. I was both drunk and excited enough to have Shelly hold on while I sung my song, “You and me and the bottle makes three tonight” from the Big Bad Voodoo Daddy. “Hold on Shelly, I have to sing!” I exclaimed. I didn’t actually expect her to hold on while I sung. Most people I know will hang up if you put them on hold to answer call waiting. I thought of this as call waiting with bad elevator music. So with my cell phone in my left hand and the microphone in my right, I belted out the best BBVD these untrained vocal chords would allow. Now I have sung many a karaoke song at Kelly’s and for the most part Ill get some people jumpin and jivin’. Especially a swing song, especially this late in a beer marinated night. Shelly loved it. Not only was I doing a spectacular rendition of the hit, she was appreciating the distraction to help her make the trip home. Not to mention that she REALLY NEEDED to procure her credit card. Her choices were to listen to me sing, or listen to her credit card company’s real elevator music when calling to cancel the card. So there is where I rank my singing ability, one step above waiting on hold and navigating the maze that is a large corporation’s phone system. Next stop, American Idol! “Whadda mean its last call?!? I just GOT HERE!!! Thank you everyone, please take care of your waiters and bartenders, I’ll be here all week” One of my usual tag lines to complete my performance. I figure, if I'm not gonna make em dance with my song, at least I can make em laugh with my two bit comedy. As I step off stage and seek my friends for a grade of my performance, I notice some strange faces in the crowd. Did I do that BAD of a job? Did I do that GOOD of a job perhaps? As I make it to the back of the bar where my friends are I put the phone back to my ear, “Shelly, are you there?” At that moment Shannon says to me “the bar just got held up!” “Err, Shelly, I have to go” click. Through all that, Shel called to procure her credit card, waited while I ruined her ear drums, and didn’t even get a chance to get her point across. “Hello? Hello? Mike? Son of a Bitch!” She kept driving. Redial, no answer. Again, same. She called Shannon, same. “What the hell is going on? I heard Shannies voice, did she say something about being held up?” She continued driving. “Whaddya mean the place got held up, I just got done singing karaoke!!!” I looked behind the bar and the bartender, a women in her 50’s was trying to calm down. “No shit” I thought, “Kelly’s just got robbed!” Police card quickly started to pile up outside like bricks in a newly laid wall. I, like the detectives who were on their way, tried to get the facts. “Kinna, what happened?” “This guy cam in, went up to the bar and pointed a gun at the bartender and demanded the register. He got away with the cash in the register and a guys wallet. ““But how? There were a dozen people in this vicinity, how did he keep everyone at bay?” I asked. “I don’t know man, everyone just froze, it was over before you knew it.” Son of a bitch. “How big was this guy?” “About 5’7” Now I’m 6’3” and I was drunk and pissed to see all my friends shaken like this, that’s when thoughts about the logistics of the event started going through my brain. Shannon tried for the door but he pointed the gun at her and told her not to move. Jay, meanwhile, didn’t think he actually had a gun. “There’s no way he had a gun, it was more like a spoon” Jay was about 2 arms lengths away from the assailant, while Shannon was standing right next to him, and she swore it was real. The cops came inside and started collecting everyone’s id’s and questions folks. They questioned me and I actually had to tell them that I was on stage at the moment and didn’t see anything. The cop actually wrote on his notepad “Saw nothing.” I was allowed to go but Shannon and Kinna were required to stay for further questioning by the detective. At this point I thought the whole situation was interesting if nothing else. So I volunteered and walked down to the corner store and bought some rations for them. We finally got out of there around 2:30 am. Before we left the bartended, finally composed, starting calling out names on credit cards she had behind the bar. “Shell Johnson!” “Oh shit!” I thought. “That’s what Shel wanted! “ I immediately answered for her, “she took off, put it on the card.”