Mrs. Bolton would be proud. Or maybe not.

Mrs. Gertrude Bolton was my teacher in second and third grade. (I went to a small school.)

She thought it was a good idea for every kid in the class to come up front, while she sat at the piano, and to have each kid sing a hymn … alone … while everyone watched.

I was a shy and anxious child, and this singing-alone thing struck terror into me. It seemed to me proof of Mrs. Bolton’s evil intentions that she would make us all sing in front of an audience. Didn’t she know how horrible that idea was?

I lived in terror of being called up front … and then I was … and I have no memory of how it turned out. Probably protective amnesia, or something. I’m sure I was horrible.

So, if Mrs. Bolton were still around (and she would be, like, 90), she might be proud of me taking the mike at a karaoke machine at a dive bar here in Abu Dhabi.

Let’s back up for a minute. It was supposed to be a multi-event Friday night. A soccer match at the nearby Al Jazira club, in its big ol’ stadium between the office and the apartment, then on to whatever hotel bar someone expressed an interest in.

However, my schedule changed, and instead of being done early, Friday night, and able to hustle down to the stadium for an 8 p.m. kickoff … I was moving copy around while the two people we had roped into going to see soccer were watching a game they didn’t much care about.

Turns out, Al Jazira won; big news for the ‘hood, because Al Jazira is unbeaten halfway through the schedule (9-0-2) and lead the standings of the UAE league and has never won a championship. So there. But the guy actually interested in seeing them play (me) … didn’t.

But now they’re ready to move on to the second half of the evening-night doubleheader, and have picked me up at the office.

Our young friend from the reporter side of the paper was keen on a karaoke bar near the Corniche. Well, sure. And she told us to go to the Capital City Hotel, where she would meet up with four of us (a new colleague and I were joined by two of the soccer non-fans) after she picked up a person or two.

We got there, and our young colleague, the Kanadian Karaoke Girl, was not there. There didn’t seem to be any karaoke at all, just a three-piece band from (true story) Colombia wailing away on a small stage. We were sharp enough, however, to figure out the Kanadian Karaoke Girl wasn’t coming, so we bugged out after one beer apiece.

Thinking perhaps the Kanadian Karaoke Girl was just messing with us, we gave her one more call to see where she was and, oh, she was at a hotel bar not far away — but on the other side of the Abu Dhabi Big Dig — a freeway that is cutting through one of the busiest parts of downtown and has just about destroyed the neighborhood.

So, after picking our way through construction sites, and listening to our new colleague tell us about how he ran into Dog the Bounty Hunter when he lived in Hawaii … we spotted the hotel across the construction zone, and found the bar: The Buzz Bar.

Walked in, and karaoke was going on. Our friend was there with another colleague, and we sat down in a corner booth of a small, dark, smoky and exceedingly loud room, and the Filipina barmaids brought us beer and, later, some chicken and rice.

I had been challenged by the Kanadian Karaoke Girl to sing something. Anything. (Did she know Mrs. Bolton?) And after sizing up the situation … and realizing that the odds of me ever running into anyone in that bar ever again were beyond slim, I thought, sure. What the heck. And began paging through the enormous library of songs.

It’s hard to remember songs you like, or even their titles, when another song is being played with a voiceover of someone singing it badly. Particularly if it is a sappy Filipino long song, and we had a lot of those. With the random Arabic songs from four or five quite convivial guys who appeared to be Arabs and were drinking and singing and occasionally dancing. They seemed like fine fellows, anyway. We applauded their four-man dance shtick.

So, I finally settled on two songs: The theme song from the movie “Ghostbusters” (easy, I thought) and then one I really like, “Don’t Stop Believin'” by Journey. Only the Greatest Pop Song of All Time. (And I am not kidding about that.)

I turned in my request ticket, and sat back to wait.

And I had a few beers but most certainly was not drunk. When the numbers for my songs appeared on the overhead screen (they have four upcoming songs listed, to give you ample warning) I actually did a little practice, cupping one hand over my mouth and another over my ear to see if I could hear myself, which is always key to karaoke. (If you can’t hear yourself, you’re gonna be pitchy, dawg.)

Meantime, one of our Brit co-workers just nailed a song or two, including “Creep” by Radiohead. Great, angry interpretation. “I’m a creep! I’m a weirdo!” We applauded wildly.

So, eventually, my songs came up. First, Ghostbusters, which is the song you want if you can’t really sing. Because all you have to do is read the lyrics; it’s almost all talking. “If there’s somethin’ strange, and it don’t look good, who you gonna call?” And I would thrust the microphone toward the table of co-workers, who would shout “Ghostbusters!”

(Oh, down side to this song. It goes on forever. Lots of “I ain’t ‘fraid of no ghost!” lines. About two minutes too long. Actually, avoid it.)

Then, into the big event: “Don’t Stop Believin'” which has some serious vocal gymnastics in it, and is way, way out of my league, but what the heck. Mrs. Bolton had prepared me.

I did OK for a time. Got all the entrances on time. I know the lyrics. I wasn’t horrible. (Inside my own head.) I was trying. But Steve Perry does some fairly serious vocal leaps in the second half of the song, and not being a professional voice-meister, my voice was already giving out before I reached the end, and it failed entirely (just about) toward the end “hold on to the fee-ee-li-in!”I had my mouth open and was pushing air over my voice box, and nothing much was happening.

And then I was done. My co-workers applauded. They were polite. The rest of the room I think was just happy I was just done. I wouldn’t mind having a recording of the event, to see how bad I really was, but alas, none was made.

So, we sat and listened to some more karaoke, and Kanadian Karaoke Girl got up and did “Buddy Holly” by Weezer, and she added a lot of dance moves, which knocked it up a few pegs on the quality scale. And we clapped for her, too.

And it was just goofy and silly and noisy, and that’s what you do on a Friday night in Abu Dhabi. If you’re not a Muslim and a non-drinker, that is. You have 2-3 beers (maybe more) and make Steve Perry wince … and Mrs. Bolton proud. Or not.