eirdway: pointless whining about a job that's really too good for me

Today was a fucked up day. I probably bring that upon myself, it was definitely an unlucky day for all parties concerned, whether optimist or pessimist. I had my headphones on, and I was trying to listen to Lateralus as I rode to the radio station but there were too many bumps and the batteries were too low to play more than a minute at a time.

At Kimball, I stopped at a liquor store where I tried to unload the last of this months' food stamps on some energy drinks and the cashier was giving off this really weird vibe. At first I figured he was trying to hide something illegal but the more he followed me around, asking me questions the more I realized it was about me. English wasn't his first language, so I couldn't tell whether he wanted to (a) fuck me, (b) kill me, or (c) induct me into a cult wherein he would revert to options (a) or (b). I left when he started asking if I would meet him somewhere, and as unconfortable as I must have looked, he still gave me handfulls of free candy as (enticement?).

I got to the station late, which was a bummer for the four or five people from the previous show who all wanted to leave and get Chinese food. I had left the house late but it was my own fault for stopping to gawk at the sun setting behind the statues on the school's lawn and then again at the twenty year old listening to Sousa marches with the door open in his office at the school newspaper (which somehow seemed weirder than any of the veryweird and/or creepy things I've seen and/or done at the station).

The show went well at least and set me in a good mood to spin at the club. The club that I would have to leave my bike and take the el to get to. The club that I would have to take the el to get to, unknowing that all the trains were rerouted so that there was no direct way to get to where I needed to be.

I watched gleefully as the cab driver drove for blocks without realizing to turn on the meter. This was bad karma for me, but I felt owed. When I offered him my card, he scolded me for not mentioning it earlier. The machine was broken so all I could do was give him the money I had, roughly half the bill. He was pretty genial, though, for a guy who had just let himself get ripped off, and that geniality stayed with me as things proceeded to fuck up at the club.

I got there and everything was all set up, except for my music. There was none. This may seem weird to you, that I, the DJ, wouldn't have my own music but that's how it works in the company I work for. Until I make enough to get a laptop, it's the only way I could keep up with all the pop and Top 40 that they want me to play (and I'm not particularly interested in on my own time). So I'm at a bar where I'm supposed to play, with nothing to play, until the manager finds me some old house cds from a few years back. I do the best I can til someone shows up with what I need, and by the time midnight came around everything was right back on course.

People were cheap tonight. Don't get me wrong, I don't think that someone shoud have to tip the DJ to hear a request, but there's this mindset where motherfuckers think they own you after throwing a dollar at you. I wonder if that's the way strippers or waitresses feel (not that I work as hard as either one). There's another thing that happens alot, confirmation bias. Whenever someone doesn't like what I'm playing they tell me that everyone is pissed and wants to dance, even if I can see the packed dancefloor from my booth. When someone wants to ingratiate themselves to me, and put themselves above the frattish masses, they tell me that they were the only one dancing to this song or that song, as if that will make me happy. In reality, it is the worst possible thing I could hear.

There was a girl like that tonight. An Indian girl named Shruti, a medical student who wanted to hear punk. I'm not sure if she was flirting with me. She waited til her second visit to the booth to tell me about her fiance at home, but she did tell me. Maybe she just thought I was the only person worth bragging to, maybe the dj booth was the best place to hide from the desi boys that flocked to her, maybe she thought there could be a real, human connection between us, and I'm too cynical. I know I'm too cynical, especally when it comes to beautiful women, and she was beutiful, so much so that it hurt, how many reasons there were we couldn't be together.

Oh well. Another day, another dollar.


To drive people away today I played

Trio - Da Da Da
Jill Sobule - I kissed a Girl
and some song by the band Chicago