when asking him for a record....
1) When are you going to play something good? - Firstly, you're saying my music is crap. Secondly, you appear to expect me to read your mind and work out what you like. I suggest you leave before I stab you with this ballpoint pen. Sod Off!!
2) If you play XXXXX everyone will dance! - Nothing is guaranteed to be further from the truth. If I play this track everyone will flock off the dance floor leaving you stood on your own in the middle. Until you feel stupid and leave. Having killed the atmosphere. Thanks a bunch.
3) Why you playing this shit? Nobody likes it! - That would explain the packed dance floor would it? If you don't particularly care for it sir, please wait 10 minutes and the music will change. To something else you can whinge about.
4) Can you play XXXX in the next 10 minutes because I've got to go home? - No. I'm trying to entertain those who are staying for the whole night. I'm not going to destroy the atmosphere I've cultivated to play The Village People at 9:30. You want to hear it, you wait until 11:00ish when it'll actually go down well.
5) Have you got any dance music? - Would that be House, Garage, Trance, Hard House, Disco, Euro pop, Hi Energy, Techno, Vocal House, Drum n Bass (ugh!) or Happy Hardcore?
6) Can I have a look at your CDs? - No. They are the tools of my living. They are arranged in a specific order. They are also a convenient size to hide under a jacket as you leave. You thieving little pikey.
7) What have you got? - Look, I carry over 250 CDs, with over 5000 tracks. I’m not about to list them for you. And no, you can't look. No. You can't press that button either.
8) When are you going to play something recent? - Oooh. About 30 seconds ago. And I'll probably play some more as soon as I've played some 70s for your Mom. Patience is a virtue. Now sod off.
9) Can you play [insert heavy metal tune]? - No. This is a wedding. You are the only person in this room who actually like to make his/her ears bleed. I know you have a bedroom wall full of their posters and you tattooed the lead singer's name on your arm with a compass and ink. But believe me, no one else likes them. And, contrary to your firm belief, the sight of you standing alone in the middle of the dance floor flicking your long greasy hair backwards and forwards, killing off your remaining brain cells, will not make young women weak at the knees. Queasy in the stomach maybe.
What your DJ actually replies;
"Certainly. I'll try and fit it in if I've got it."
You mean the sort of son-of-a-gun who requests say 'The Chicken Song' right at the end of a cold / miserable / tiring / rainy mid-December evening?
You're gonna tell me that's you now aren't you? You'll have experienced the mixture of forced inane smile and gritted teeth growl that DJs develop for just such an occassion then. ;-)
