I mentioned this summer was starting off with a few bumps. I had no idea.
The middle school dance the night before went nice and smooth. I had no reason to feel the wedding reception would be any different. I had a good phone conversation with the bride to plan things out. Also the job was just minutes from my house, allowing me to set up the equipment well in advance.
However when I arrived to start the party I was immediately attacked by momzilla, wanting to know why I was late. Nevermind the fact that I was 30 minutes early. They sign the contracts, but do the ever look at the words? Like “starts at 6PM”? I think my agent should take advantage of this and slip in some extra provisions - Purchaser must provide entertainer free gas for a year plus 100 tokens to Chucky Cheese. That’ll teach em.
I started playing the cocktail music they never paid for. Not that it mattered because by that point all the guests ears were bleeding. My microphone has picked up this amusing habit of screeching when it is turned off. Maybe it feels neglected, I’m not sure. It had it’s first tantrum the second I powered up the equipment, sending the guests under their tables in fear. Good ice breaker really. That being accomplished, I went to line up the bridal party for their formal introduction.
I am short. Their head usher was unshort. Coincidentally my shoulder was the same height as the beer he was holding. I managed to transfer most of the liquid from the glass to his tux but I did miss a few drops. Fortunately it wasn’t his first beer. I apologized profusely but he said “No problem, bro.” God bless alcohol.
The introductions actually went smooth and everything appeared to return to normal. The only early warning sign came when the banquet coordinator informed me we had temporarily lost the entire bridal party. They were half way through the buffet line, when someone suggested “Hey, let’s go out to the parking lot and smoke a fatty!” They all agreed this was a fantastic idea and off they went. I’m sure it was just the way the bride dreamed of it as a little girl.
For the most part though, everything seemed fine. I started the dance after dinner and the show went very well, from Chickens to Cha Cha, everyone was having fun, insert generic reception here. That all changed about ten o’clock, when the bride came up to me in tears.
“That asshole.” she said, while digging through her purse for my paycheck, “he humiliated me in front of everyone.” The asshole in question was not me for once, but the groom. I don’t know exactly what he did, but the bride sure was miserable. Her bridesmaids rallied around her and told her she couldn’t go. She was half way out the door though. I have had newlyweds get into little disagreements here and there, but this was easily my first potential reception divorce ever.
So I was a little stunned when she did an about face and told me to start the dollar dance. “Are you sure?” I asked. She was sure and so we did. The atmosphere of the room had taken a serious turn. To say there was tension in the air would be a bit of an understatement. I decided to detach myself emotionally, taking a spectator point of view. And oh what a show.
Shakira’s new song starts off with “No fighting”, so I mixed these two words in to another song over and over with hopes of subconsciously diffusing the situation. It didn’t work. Ten feet from me a chair suddenly skidded across the floor and the next thing I knew the groom and the bride’s father were at each other’s throats.
“It’s not my fault your daughter’s being a bitch!” screamed the groom. Dad yelled back something unitelligible and that was it. Nothing but flailing arms and legs as they rolled on the ground. It took about ten guests on each side to pull them apart. Even then they managed to get loose and go another round. Profanities were screamed, kids were crying, just complete chaos. It was great!
I decided it was probably time to kill the music. The hall coordinator turned on the lights and came over to me. I asked him if he wanted me to call the cops. He said they had already been notified.
So I got make the announcement I had only dreamed of giving up to that point: “Ladies and gentleman, the authorities are on their way. We do not want anyone going to jail tonight, so please calmly head for the parking lot and go home. The party is over.”
Groom and dad were eventually separated, and the stunned crowd slowly filtered out. Many including myself stood around for a bit in a “Did that really just happen?” fog. In six years of DJing I have never had a brawl. As I told the hall coordinator later though - I got paid, I got to go home an hour early and I had a free front row seat to the Jerry Springer show.
These are the nights that make the job so worth it.
Coming soon: Carnage Part 2 - Ryan finds ways to entertain himself on the island that time forgot.