For every reception I receive a planner filled out by the bride covering the agenda, names of the bridal party, music likes and dislikes and any other info I need for the night. My agent requests they send this back 30 days in advance, so I have time to plan. This particular bride felt that 30 hours in advance would be enough to plan. If this were a generic reception that wouldn’t be a big deal, but of course her planner was the most complicated I’ve had in years.
Her bridal party was the size of the Michigan State Marching Band, all with unpronounceable Klingon last names written in tiny smudged print. The formal announcement was to be made while playing Chamillionaire’s “Ridin Dirty”. Classy. No icebreaker songs (Chicken, Hokey Pokey, etc.) were to be played. New music was to be played at the beginning of the night, rotated every 5 songs with country, old school hip hop like they play on 95.5 Detroit (nevermind I live two hours north of Detroit, where this station plays “GHSHSHSHHHHKGHHSSHHHHHH”), and Latin songs - Cumbia that is, not Gregorian Chants. Also the music is to be played LOUD. She said she hates it when you can’t hear the music at the back of the room. Make their ears bleed, got it.
I never even had a chance to plan things out with her on the phone, so I knew the trainwreck potential was off the scale. I finally met her when she swept into the hall with her massive entourage. She was bridezilla only in that she was intent on controlling every detail, but to her credit she was so darn likable I didn’t mind. She took me by the arm, thrilled to see me, and immediately began planning out the introductions. I told her the order they would be introduced and she said she would line everyone up accordingly. Lesson learned that night: never let your bride line up the bridal party, especially when it is over twenty couples large and they are all drunk.
The guests took their seats and I began to announce the bridal party. However I was on the dance floor, several miles from the head table. It wasn’t till after I learned the couples had been introduced completely out of order, making me look like a schmuck. To top it off as I had everyone stand for the new bride and groom, the guests yelled at me to stop because the newlyweds weren’t ready yet. So there was mini me, staring at a wall of people’s butts, completely unable to see what was going on. I now plan to take a stepladder to all future jobs.
Finally the guests said they were ready and I introduced the new bride and groom. From there it went smoothly for several minutes. I enjoyed a nice dinner and had only one complaint from a security guard about the guests: “We had some of the Mexicans out in the parking lot smoking weed.” Those darn Mexicans! I guess they like marijuana almost as much as white people do (See earlier jobs from me, Ryan)
Finally it was time to start the dance, but before I could retrieve the bride and groom, the photographer cornered me. He was a giant bearded walrus of a man and just a little surly. He made it very clear I was to do the tossing of the bouquet immediately following the formal dances. I tried to explain I needed just four songs before the bouquet to kick off the night, but apparently walruses don’t have ears. “I’ve been here twelve hours now, and you will do the bouquet immediately.” Any time I skip my kickoff, it makes it ten times harder to establish myself with the crowd, but I also knew Mr. Walrus was one of the most respected photographers in town and not to fucked with. “Yes sir” was my reply.
I went to get the bride only to find her in tears. At least this time it wasn’t her new husband. She was very distressed because people were pulling her in every direction and her mammoth bridal party was drunk and unmanageable. Um…so you’re saying it’s a wedding reception. I assured her that was normal, the guests were having a wonderful time and everything was going fabulously. Then I found a way to make her laugh. “Somebody farted.” she snickered. Did I mention when I get nervous and stressed, I get gas? I didn’t mention it to her either.
I introduced the Bride and Groom for their first dance, then started looking for the music for the remaining three formal dances. The bridal party song I had burned earlier that day, a little Celine Dion for the father daughter dance no problem there, and for mother/son….A Song for Mama by Boyz II Men I mourn the day that miserable cursed song was recorded. Just days earlier my girlfriend and I had laughed about how I had burned multiple copies since the last Mama disaster. Yet a quick glance through my music case revealed nothing. The bride and groom’s song ended and I introduced the bridal party for their dance. Then I desperately went through every CD in my case again. Nada for Mama. I was up to the father/daughter dance now, with just over four minutes to find the song.
I knew there was a CD from my case that was in my car for some reason, so the second I pressed play for Celine Dion, I took off running for the parking lot. I got to my car, rifled through various car CDs and car junk till I found it. It had three songs on it. None of them were Mama. I hightailed it back to the dancefloor. Fifty seconds left. Palms sweating, heart pounding, I mentally started rehearsing my apology speech: “I…am…so…sorry!! Let me tell you why I suck as a DJ…” Twenty seconds to go. I glanced at the corner of my music case. A CD sat innocently at the top of the stack. I grabbed it - first track, A Song for Mama by Boyz II Men. I probably farted again at that point, but it didn’t stop me from slamming the CD into my player just as Celine read 00:00.
Disaster averted, the rest of the night was just a lot of hard work. I had the booty shaking sorority girls, the Mexican Cumbia dancers, and the old white people crowd. For some reason their musical tastes did not mesh, so it was a constant make one group happy while pissing off the other two reception. And all of it was LOUD. But by God, I finished that job without anything breaking, without any songs missed and gave that bride exactly what she wanted. She showed her appreciation with a “Thanks” and a paycheck.
So the DJ lives to play again!