The DJ's sex life

When I need to smile, I start up the computer and visit No Breasts No Requests. It takes me back to my days as a DJ, with its scrapes and its delights. Let me explain. This is an essentially photographic blog, run by Mick Fiction, a California DJ. The premise is simple: DJs post photos "of notes & signs found around the DJ booth."

These notes are the DJ's nightmare. Verbal or written, requests start from a basic mistake on the part of the selfish customer: simply for entering a place, he thinks he has the right to demand the music of his choice.

in fact, the immense majority of nightlife people know that to ask for music is bad manners, an insult to someone who is making a serious effort to build a personal session. GDJ Floro warned these people off with a sign: "A disc jockey is not a jukebox."

Even so, some think they have a right to pester the DJ. The automatic comeback is "I don't have it," but it has happened to me that they immediately pull the desired record out of a bag. Take care: there are couples who have rehearsed a choreography that sweeps the dance floor empty with exhibitionistic evolutions (and they hope to be rewarded with applause).

The DJ has little patience with these assaults. He is generally a sulky, snotty fellow, combining arrogance ("I know more about music than all of you put together") with the pent-up rancor of one who works while others are having fun. There are some friendly ones, who accept the suggestions that fit in with their sound design. If they are resident maestros in one venue, they know the leanings of the clientele, and fall back on certain classics: one enthusiast, or group thereof, can "make the dance floor" and attract the more reticent to participate.

The DJ can reject a request flatly or, more diplomatically, "take note" of it, and go on playing what he had planned. It may be that the applicant - who is usually a girl - will come back and insist. As more alcohol goes down the throat, the tone becomes more aggressive. Or more insinuating: serviettes with little hearts drawn, or kisses imprinted on them.

From my years in the trenches, I can show you a sampling of arguments employed to cajole the DJ:

(1) "My friend is getting married/divorced next week and she'd like to dance to something by Bruce Springsteen."

(2) "Today is my friend's birthday and her favorite song is Corazón partío."

(3) "My friend is feeling down, and it would do her good to listen to Shakira."

(4) "I need something by Eminem so that rapper guy over there will get up and dance, and I can go over to him."

(5) "Tonight is the end of Ramadan and we need something by Khaled."

I was very gullible in those days. Needless to say, all these excuses are lies. All's fair in the battles of the night. There are even attempts to bribe the DJ with money (favorite option of male customers who like to flaunt), substances ("No, thanks"), or the promise of sexual favors: "If you play it, I'll wait for you later."

This is a go-slow zone. Here speaks the voice of experience. Later you find out she is with husband/boyfriend and never even thought of doing anything. Perhaps she was showing off to her friends how easily she can twist a DJ around her little finger.

And it can happen, of course. Urban legends circulate about Encounters of the Third Kind in the DJ booth, in full session. Don't believe them. More frequent is the impossible coupling, elsewhere, far later into the night. To picture it, remember the "nerd's nightmare" subgenre of film that flourished in the 19880s (Something Wild, After Hours). Imagine similar adventures, but with the impediment of a suitcase full of records. It gives me the shivers just to remember it.