When The Act Is Just An Act

, , , , , | Working | September 16, 2019

I am a manager of a small bar and music venue. We mainly get local bands and DJs that are starting up and grateful for the exposure. I occasionally have to deal with rude or entitled idiots, but this one girl definitely stood out.

When she called me, she was initially nice enough, asking about schedules and costs for her DJ set; however, she started getting more difficult and clearly thinking she was more famous than she was, demanding I cancel other bands’ already booked slots and rearrange the lighting display to suit her. She also claimed that I would definitely want her as a regular and to clear a space in the weekly schedule, something we don’t do for outside performers. All of these were denied and I gave her one booking slot.

The day came and she arrived before any of the other acts, started looking around, and demanded I take down our in-house lights and buy new ones from this “eco-friendly” shop and that we move and rotate the — fixed — stage to face the outside light, as vitamins help you perform or something to that effect. She then said she needed other bands’ slots, as she’s a celebrity. She also mentioned her expected salary as a celebrity regular. I adamantly held my ground on her ridiculous demands. She hassled other people, as well, always introducing herself as “you know who I am” and trying to take performance slots. Just before the setup window ended and guests came in, she told me how all images of her were copyrighted and photos were not permitted. I just nodded and chuckled.

Her performance slot arrived and she arrived with a group to set up her (incredibly basic and cheap) DJ set, introduced herself as the most famous DJ in the area — to loads of confusion — and then started her set. It was by far the worst set I’d ever heard — random screeches, going from one genre to the next within seconds, and shouting over the top. Basically, imagine a toddler smashing random keys on a keyboard that’s randomly changing sounds, and crying over it. That would be better than her set was.

The whole time, her group of friends was approaching anyone who took out a phone and aggressively saying, “No pictures!” The hostility and terrible music drove most guests to the bar or tables, yet her friends still approached them and said, “No pictures,” even when they were clearly doing something else. After several complaints, I was forced to pull the plug on her and kick her out. Of course, she flipped out, saying the whole, “Do you know who I am?!” thing, as well as saying I didn’t appreciate her good music and that we would see her in every magazine, blah, blah, blah.

A few days later, my friend at another venue reiterated the same story to me and we concluded it was the same girl, so we checked her Twitter account. She had less than ten followers, some we recognized as her friends, and we discovered that she’d been banned from almost all music venues nearby due to her hostile attitude. 

Seriously, how can someone be so convinced of their own fame that they continue to put on such an act?

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If You Wanna Be My Lover, You Gotta Get With My Jams

, , , , , , , | Friendly | June 27, 2019

I’m driving to work, and the turn arrow I need turns red just as I pull up. I’m annoyed, as this is a major intersection, and it’ll be at least two minutes before the arrow changes.

However, at that instant, the radio changes to “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls. Knowing how long the light is, I crank the volume, roll down my windows, and rock out. About a minute in, I glance at the car on my left: the driver looks at me with pure judgment. I ignore them and look over at the big rig on my right.

The driver is also rocking out, and I realize he’s also jamming to the Spice Girls. We make eye contact and exchange thumbs-up before going our separate ways.

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For Her Nothing Else Matters

, , , , | Learning | May 14, 2019

I worked in an English language preschool as a teacher’s assistant.

There was a five-year-old little girl with blonde hair, who always had pink clothes on, and she was a little shy and very polite.

One day, in our after-school club, one of the teachers put a CD on and a song by Metallica started playing. The little girl calmly walked into the middle of the room and started head-banging. Not only were the staff laughing out loud, the other kids were also amazed.

She was doing what she had seen her older brother do, her mom later explained.

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DJ Hobo In The House!

, , , , , , | Friendly | March 13, 2019

(My friend and I are eating lunch outside. I am sitting leaning against a concrete pillar while he sits opposite me against a wall. I am just about done when I hear snippets of a strange, rambling voice behind me.)

Voice: “Yeah, I’m… money… fo dis… real man… yeah…”

(I look at my friend who is watching whatever is going on with a look that is equal parts bafflement and horror. I piece together the incoherent blather and his face and come to the conclusion that a confused, homeless person has somehow snuck onto our campus and is currently harassing students for money. Not wanting to deal with that hassle, I quickly finish my food and stand up so that we can head indoors, pointedly not turning around, to avoid making eye contact.)

Friend: *immediately once we were indoors* “Did you see that?!”

Me: “I heard it. I figured it was some crazed, homeless guy bothering students.”

Friend: “What? No! It was that blond chick trying to rap!”

(I turn around and see a blond girl that neither of us knows, but she is hard to ignore, as she loudly speaks like a “gangsta.” She is in the middle of a small group of people bobbing back and forth with her hand to her mouth as if holding a microphone.)

Me: “Good God, her free-styling was so awful I assumed it was a half-drunk hobo seeking pocket change from teenagers.”

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This Caller Has Been Band

, , , , , | Working | March 6, 2019

I am in my university’s marching band and am in the middle of an indoor practice. There are close to four hundred of us in the band so it can get pretty loud.

I have my phone out on my music stand and notice that an unfamiliar number, similar to ones that have been telemarketers in the past, is calling me in the middle of a song.

During a rest, I hit the answer button, and then go back to playing my part. After a few seconds on the line, the telemarketer hangs up.

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