One of the worst things about DJing is…the girls! Okay, I know it sounds crazy, but hear me out. In fact, let me break it down like this: there are certain types of club chicks that will approach/bother/harass a DJ in the booth, each of whom I’m going to touch on here. Not like that, ya pervs. Although..there is a groupie section in this article. More on that below. I don’t know what it is about girls in the club, maybe they think because they’re girls they can get away with shit, but here’s what I run into as a working class DJ…
This is pretty much self-explanatory. These, young, never-been-to-the-club before bitches believe that because “fucking-A it’s my 21st birthday,” that DJs should go out of their way to make a big announcement to the whole room about said birthday and should be required to play “the birthday song” for them, i.e. 50 Cent “In The Club” not “Happy Birthday”…although one day I’m going to just say fuck it and play “Happy Birthday” when they ask for “The Birthday Song.”
Go shorty, it’s your birthday. No really, go. Just go away. Far, far, away.
Tonight I got in an argument with a Play My Song Chick, who thought the world–and my record selection–revolved around her. She would not leave me alone until I played Madonna. I dropped “Lucky Star” for a verse and mixed out of it. She comes back 30 minutes later and says “Why the FREAK would you say you would play my song, if you aren’t going to play it.” After arguing with her for 10 minutes, I just said “Yo, I am sick of you,” and called security on the rancid bitch.
This girl is similar to the 21 Run Chick in many ways. However, what makes her different is that she has a crown on and is usually covered in plastic dicks. Dicks on her necklace, dicks on her drink straw, dicks in her hair. She expects attention, and believes because she’s out for one last night of fun, that she has license for bad behavior.
This one will ask you to stop everything and play her song, however when you say no, she makes said “frowny face.” My response is always the same. “Frowny faces don’t work on me, sorry.” Then it’s the self-entitled, “I hate you, you big meanie” face.
God forbid we DJs stray from the course a little bit and mix in something other than Drake or Nicki. Anytime you play something that isn’t commercial hip-hop, Are You Going To Play Some Hip-Hop Chick approaches the booth with a look of complete frustration and stress on her face, and asks…well, her name says it all. Next time this happens, I’m going to say, “Yeah, sure,” and drop some Eric B & Rakim.
I admit I took full advantage of them very early on in my career as I didn’t know better, but I learned the hard way. This is the chick that makes eye contact with you no matter what time of night it is every single time you glance at her. Sips her drink with a straw real sexy-like and has no problem at all letting you know she wants you. They’re usually unemployed complete nut jobs and just want to add you to their “been there done that” list. DJs: this is not Star Trek, you are not special, you aren’t going somewhere no man has gone before. Be careful.
Don’t get me wrong, a DJ is supposed to make the crowd dance, but what happens when you are doing your job a little too well? Hyper Dancing Chick will come up to the DJ booth and dance on you/at you. Usually high on something, this type of hellion will have complete disregard for not only the DJ’s personal space, but also the expensive electronic equipment that is powering the room (lights, turntables, mixer, laptop) and dances, flinging arms around and waving drinks in the air. She also expects you to be as excited as she is because “Fancy” is on, even though you play that shit every single night and it’s not even that good in the first place. This happened to me tonight as well, and I had to actually leave the deejay booth to get away from this ridiculous hyena. She was like a bouncing rubber ball in a very small room.
Let me just add that I know the word “bitch” is pretty disrespectful to use in regards to a woman, but drastic times call for drastic measures. It’s 5:30 a.m. on a Sunday, which means, yes, I had to deal with each of these bitch archetypes this evening, and this was the only real way to get the frustration of my chest. At least the money was good.