Tribal Backlash

                I thought I might have a couple weeks head start of not attending services before anyone in my old tribe really took notice to my absence.  In my far romanticized imagination of this journey, I pictured myself packing my things and sneaking out of the village late at night and by the time anyone noticed I’d be on my journey already.  I believe that’s how the archetype of this narrative goes.  Regardless, I knew if I announced my intentions, I might never end up going through with them.

                I’ve never been good at having perfect attendance at service.  (Although, I had been going over a month straight with no skips and want a cookie or at least a sticker.)  Some days that alarm is just too easy to turn off, so I figured I might get away with playing that card.  Nevertheless, I made premeditated brunch plans with friends—more so a reason to not go back out of comfort and who doesn’t love mimosas and less so an excuse to give all that would ask.

                Anyways, brunch falls through because my friend drank too much the night before and left his phone in his sister’s car, so it goes…  We still meet up later in the afternoon to check out a conference (more on that later) and end up going for drinks after.  In my apparent evening of debauchery, I stopped by this bourgie lounge bar my friend used to work at for a Manhattan.  Then, we went to a wine party where surprise I had a glass of wine, ate frozen bananas, and watched Arrested Development.  On our way to get food, my friend had to pee and the closest place was this trashy dive bar The Lucky Horseshoe.  Now I didn’t really want to go, but after finding out they had Miller Lite for a dollar I got talked into stopping in for a beer.  At the same time, a member of the old tribe texts me wanting to meet up with us.  Begrudgingly, I tell her where we are, knowing repercussions will come.

                Reader, I should give you a little backdrop to the Lucky Horseshoe.  It is this little trashy dive bar at the south end of the Boystown strip known for having go-go boys.  I learned that it was actually quite well lit and boring on the inside.  I first discovered it because it was right next to this sandwich place I would go when I lived in the neighborhood.  One night, my friend Emily and I had decided to reclaim the nostalgia of our adolescence by attempting to learn how to play hacky sack on the corner of this key store which we had dubbed “The Stoop” and claimed as our own piece of property in the neighborhood.  It was a futile attempt with repeated failure until suddenly we befriend this guy who came to rescue us from public embarrassment by becoming our hacky sack sensei.  He became the happiest go lucky friend I had.  He would smoke Black and Milds all the time (which were not laced with marijuana,) tried to much failure to teach me to juggle, and always had a joke to tell.  After several visits to the costume store, I came to realize he was a go-go boy at the Horseshoe—by this point I didn’t even really think much of it.

                The second go-go boy I befriended I met because I bummed a cigarette from him on my way to the train one evening.  (I'm working on quitting now, so I'll need a new way to meet strangers.)  I came to find out he played pokemon and was super pumped that I had someone who could trade me a Bulbasaur, so we hung out a few times and I got all the pokemon I could ever want.

                The third was actually my friend's brother, who I saw whilst walking down the strip one day.  There in the window was my friend per say (same nose,) if he was taller and ripped (and he’ll hate me for saying that.)  His brother danced to make some extra easy money to pay his way through school and take care of his kid.  Though it can be quite the banal job amongst a crass group of people, he and I both came to the conclusion that you just do what you have to do sometimes.

                Back to the present, my friend meets us at the bar with an accompanied look of disgust that never left her face the entire night.  He and I greeted her and worked on finishing our beers.  We were surprisingly comfortable there in the bar.  Perhaps we had come to the radical notion that go-go boys are people too.  The dancers all had shorts on though they were cut to be short shorts obviously.  It doesn’t take much skill to dance go-go style either.  I could do it.  You just have to sway your hips back and forth.  I catch a dancers eye and at this point, it turns out I know four go-go boys.  I had met this kid Jared about a year prior while out with friends.  He had just come to the city from Podunk Town, Wyoming eager to pursue an education in dance.  When he finished his set he came down off the table and I caught up with him while empathizing that the field experience he was getting did not meet the ambitions he had.

                After we finished our drinks, we head out to get some food.  Miguel and his friend lead the way, while she and I are in the back.  There away from the safety of my friends she lets me have it: 

“Why would you go to a bar like that?!”

Well my friend really had to pee and you know how he is when he drinks.

“You weren’t at church today!” (I personally would call it service, but that’s just my ecclesiology.)

My friend and I were supposed to have brunch.

“Looks like you’re on quite the downward spiral.  When’s the last time you even read the Bible?”

(Not snarky) Actually, yesterday for a good part of the evening along with reading Buechner and Brueggemann as well.  You would like them.

When I switched to drinking water at dinner, I was told I shouldn’t have drank so much that I had to have water this early.  So on and so forth.

I really wasn’t sure what to do at this point.  I figured my salvation wouldn’t be questioned for at least a couple more weeks.  I guess she was the first whistle blower to my apostasy, though I wasn’t really sure what I was apostating from or if I even wanted to go back. 

                But it was here in this experience that perhaps for the first time I could relate to the Messiah and his disciples encountering the Pharisees on the Sabbath.  I mean he would’ve had friends like these.  When God came incarnate he planted his flag in solidarity with the other.  I was not really upset about the whole incident more so as caught off guard.  Strangely, I felt this peace about it—that in my acts of sacrilege, I was somehow journeying towards something sacred.