That party I wrote about in the last post with the girl who is probably going to get way too into rave culture? Total success. Well, kind of. I nailed my DJ set and got everyone totally pumped, to the tune of a $60 tip. Some of the party goers didn't fair so well, however. The party ended at 11:15 when 911 was called to help the kid who overdosed (allegedly) on ecstasy and "blow." Oopsie.
Man, I almost feel bad about calling that girl out for being a future raver loadie. I don't want to be that right.
That girl's parents put sooo much money into her party. I DJ'd inside of a 30 x 60 dance tent complete with intelligent gobo lighting and fog machines (the picture above is the tent with all the kids cleared out, attending to the "emergency"). Mom and dad also sprung for a photobooth and a couple hundred dollars worth of glowsticks and glow necklaces. Kids are spoiled as shit, I swear. 17? That's not a birthday. 16. 18. 21. Those are birthdays. 17? Pshsh.
I saved myself a bit of stress by giving the kids some of the nastier work I usually don't feel like doing. When a little pimply kid came up and asked if I could request, on microphone, for all the ladies to get on the dance floor, I came up with a compromise. Instead of being the creepiest 25 year old DJ ever requesting for a party of teenage girls to come dance for me, I handed him the mic.
"Uh... Hello? Um. Can like... all the ladies get on the dance floor? Yeah, [with renewed vigor] I need all the ladies on the dance floor!"
I'll be damned. All the ladies got on the dance floor.
You're hired, kid.
No comments:
Post a Comment