First House Party Gig

To protect the innocent and the guilty,  names and descriptions has been changed.

After reaching my destination, a suburban house located in Sanford, Florida, people helped me unload my DJ gear.  Fearing rain, I asked to be set under the open-air patio.

After receiving my first Bud Light, I was already given my pay for the evening.  Due to past shitty behavior about money, receiving my pay early surprised me.  When it came to photographing parties, many times I had problems getting money from clients.  Also, due to people always whining the poor mouth when they request my services, I always charge below typical rates.   One of these days, my charging below rates is going to stop.

Let it be known, tonight’s clients didn’t whine the poor mouth with me.  When given my rate, no argument came from them.

As the party moved on, being the only black person present didn’t bother me as I played seventies and country.   Yep, you read it right.  I was playing country music. Tonight’s Birthday Boy, who was turning 50, owned a taste for both seventies and country music.  He especially possessed a sweet tooth for disco.

According to my maternal grandmother, during Jim Crow, black residents were non-existent on this side of town.   Now, tonight a black DJ was playing country music here.   I wasn’t treated like the hired help either, lower than a fly on a dog’s testicle.   People made sure I got enough food and booze.

When she first walked up to me, I recognized a brunette I hadn’t seen since the nineties.  She still possessed a tall slender body and a deep feminine voice that causes erections.

“I remember you,” I said.

“Where do you remember me from?” she asked.

“You used to work for a print company.  And I used to pick up orders from you.  I worked for this fat Italian dude.  I’ve gained weight since then.”

Actually, she worked the front desk.  At the time, I guessed she had a thing going with the owner, a dark-haired dude who looked either to be in his late twenties or early thirties.  One night at a local bar, I saw him and the brunette kissing.

“I remember you now,” the brunette said to me.

“What was your name again?” I said.

“Jackie.”

She told me Birthday Boy loved the Bee Gees.  On that note, I played a Bee Gee’s song next.

Some folks danced part of the night.  Some didn’t dance at all.

Fed up with hearing seventies music all night, folks began making requests for other music genres.   One or two requested songs from the current decade.  A dude who looked fifty-something requested – his exact words –  nasty rap music.

I played whatever they requested.  If I had it, I played it.

When the night was over, another person handed me some more money, even though I didn’t ask for it. This guy was impressed by my music collection, especially the country.

Years ago, I never would have imagined someone praising me for country music, especially in a neighborhood  “coloreds” weren’t allowed to live.  Country isn’t my strong point.  

As the nights go by, this DJ thing is getting more and more interesting.  Of all the paths  to travel, looks like I chose the right one to walk on.

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