I Am the DJ

If I don’t feel well in myself it is always one of two extremes. I either act like a recluse and see (except from my children and fiancee) absolutely no-one. Or I go out and party preferably with absolutely the whole world (interesting material for my new psychologist soon).

Yesterday evening, after the shocking announcement from the GP, I chose for the whole world. Let’s part…ay!

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A Kings Night Party at the tennis club, where Fiancee whacks a ball now and again. The club house, decorated with hundreds of small (orange, duh) lightbulbs is not yet full. It looks cosy and atmospheric. Several people are surprised that I’m here. ‘You don’t play tennis do you?’

‘No, but I do love a good party…duh.’ Don’t have to play tennis to do so, right?

The beers are cold and going down a treat, but the music is a bit dreary. I have been up to the DJ several times with song suggestions. But either he is not at one with my choices or he finds me just a little irritating and refuses therefore to listen. So as soon as the DJ walks in the direction of the toilet, I see no other option but than to take the matter into my own hands. I climb up and over into the DJ booth and in no time stand at the table.

Ok, that is surprising, there are so many buttons. But how difficult can it really be. I scan through and choose the first acceptable track that I stumble across. The boogying tennis players on the dance floor don’t know what is about to hit them – What I, the DJ shall let them hear!! I press PLAY.

And….. Nothing happens. The current (drowsy) track just keeps spinning. Hmmm….maybe I must press this switch down. Frantically, I press on another button.

Deadly silence. Oh Shit. I desperately turn another dial. People are looking and start heckling and boo-ing!

Oh Shit oh shit oh shit. A really angry DJ comes running. I mutter an apology and climb quickly out of his booth.

Oh no, all these gawping people. I search desperately for Fiancee. Who might at any moment be changing his mind… (should be: who must be thinking by now… (like must be thinking what a morron) but I like your version better!). A moment later I see him standing…creased over the bar from laughing. And then I burst into laughter. What a plonker I am.

 

 

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Auteur: Renske Kaldewaij

Ella Ebeling is de creatie van schrijver en journalist Renske Kaldewaij. Net als Ella is Renske 38 jaar oud, ruim zeven jaar verloofd en moeder van drie kinderen. De verhalen zijn deels autobiografisch, deels verzonnen.

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