WHY YOU GOTTA BE FRONTIN' ON ME, FRENCHY?

Had one of those gigs last night where I could not WAIT to pack my stuff up and go.

The wedding reception was in a French cafe place. It was really nice ... two storys high ... linen napkins and everything.

I get there and ask the French guy who was in charge where I'd be setting up.

"Over there," he gestured with his head.

All I saw was a staircase.

"Over where?" I asked again.

"On zee stairs," he muttered.

I was a bit confused.

"No," I said. "I'm the D.J.. I'm zee one playing zee music for tonight's party see voo play."

(Figured it couldn't hurt to let him know that I sympathized with his Frenchness.)

"I know who you are," he said all snippy. "You set up on zee landing in zee middle of zee stairs."

There was a 4 x 4 area where the stairs took a 90 degree turn halfway down the staircase.

It was 12 steps up to that landing.

Everything I carry with me weighs over 70 lbs with my big box full of all my equipment weighing about 120.

I DO NOT CARRY THIS SHIT UPSTAIRS.

Well ... I do ... but the client pays $10 a stair.

And when I spoke to the groom several months ago, he assured me that there would be no stairs.

Hence ... welcome to Problem City ... I'm your handsome mayor.

"This won't work," I told Frenchie. "I need more space than this. My lights are on a truss that's 10 feet wide."

"Zat is where you vill be setting up!" Frenchie dismissed me and then added AND I FREAKIN' QUOTE HERE ... "Now stop wasting my time."

Ummmm ... here's the deal Frenchie.

I don't have a problem knocking your fucking lights out if you get all holier than thou on my ass. I'd be more than happy to knock you on your ass, turn around and go home and call the groom to tell him he doesn't have a wedding reception now because Frenchie's boyfriend wouldn't cornhole him last night and he took his bitterness out on me.

Alas, I just said "Where's the groom?"

"You will not waste the groom's time with this!" he snapped.

"Yes I will," I said firmly, brushing past the French Fuck and tracking down the groom.

Found the groom.

The groom's all "Can we put the DJ closer to the dance floor?" with Frenchie.

"Ziss is where the DJ goes!" Frenchie hissed. "All DJs play on zee stairs."

THEN ... Frenchie calmed down considerably and told the groom "Do not let him waste your time. You have important things to do."

Ummmm ... fucker??

We have two hours until the wedding.

And if you don't quit referring to me as Timmy Timewaster, I'm liable to punch you in the nuts.

I told the groom I could make it work, but there would be no lights and he'd still be paying for them.

He was okay with this.

I told him that it'd be a $10 per stair charge.

He was okay with this.

I began setting up, avoiding eye contact with Frenchie for the next two hours.

THE WEDDING ITSELF

There were a few clues over the last few weeks that I would be dealing with my very first Groomzilla.

First, he had me scheduled to play five songs that were "inside jokes" between him and his friends.

Here's an example: "Don't Know Much" by Linda Ronstadt and Aaron Neville.

From the 1980s-era full length cartoon "An American Tail" I think.

Here's another knee-slapping inside joke song ... "Achy Breaky Heart".

The other three ... "Yes, We Have No Bananas", "Grease" and "Hero" from the "Spiderman" movie.

Saturday morning I received an email from him.

"The bride's father won't dance with her. He doesn't dance."

That's it.

Okay. I can deal with this.

So the bride and groom dance their dance. It's nice and romantic.

The groom then dances with his Mom.

And then ... for the first time in history ... the bride doesn't dance with her dad.

So we get into dance music and I have a full dance floor.

An overflowing dance floor.

No matter what I played, they danced.

Awesome dance floor.

And then ... about 30 minutes after the special dances, the groom comes up to me.

"Her dad wants to dance with her now."

I could have easily said "Fuck that motherfucker. Fuck that motherfucker in his motherfucking goat ass. Fuck that motherfucker so hard that his motherfucking lungs pop out his motherfucking ass."

But I didn't.

I said "Cool. It's coming up next."

Now then ... what do you say in a spot like this?

Do you say "Hey ... here's the deal. The dad didn't want to dance with the bride yesterday but after seeing everyone else dance, he's ready to dance now"?

Do you say "Ladies and gentlemen, if you could all please walk off the dance floor for five minutes, the bride's father is going to throw a hissy fit if he doesn't get to dance with his daughter right now. I know he had a chance to do this earlier when it was appropriate but apparently he's a spoiled bitch who pouts until he gets his way or some shit. Here's Dad and Daughter."

No.

Here's what I said:

"Ladies and gentlemen, I have made a terrible mistake. I inadvertently forgot to have the bride and her father dance together a while back. I feel horrible about this so if we could get everyone to step off the dance floor for just a moment, I want to give them their overdue time in the spotlight."

I'm a freakin' professional.

I took all the heat for clearing the dance floor and put none of the heat on the pissy daddy.

What did I get for this?

Nada.

But that's my job.

Except Groomzilla had quite a few drinks in him by this point.

And Groomzilla REALLY REALLY REALLY liked the first two minutes of every song I played.

Then, after two minutes, he'd give me a "wrap it up" signal with his hand to let me know that while everyone else on the floor was grooving, he was ready for the next song to start.

This worked for about 8 songs in a row.

Then, during the Cha Cha Slide, he was ready for whatever was next, yelled my name and did his little movement with his hand.

And I shook my head "no".

Showdown at the Reception Corral.

The Cha Cha Slide is the most popular song you can play at a wedding reception, bar none.

I had over 80 people on the floor, doing the slide.

And I was sick and tired of bowing down to this moron's demands.

Once he saw my head shake no, he came up the stairs to me.

"We need to pick up the pace," he said. "Play something faster."

"I have almost 100 people on the floor doing the most popular dance I'll play all night," I said. "I can't stop everything and play something faster until it's over."

Groomzilla stood there for a second, swaying to the imaginary wind in the air.

"Play Violent Femmes next" he said and walked away.

Snooty rich fucking bastard.

I played "Blister In The Sun" by Violent Femmes next. A good song if you're drunk, in college and living on Daddy's dime.

But apparently a wedding reception dance floor murderer.

Groomzilla was hilarious ... grabbing at people as they walked off the dance floor, trying to keep them on the dance floor.

With an hour left in the reception, the bride's sorority sisters wanted to do something special for her.

I've seen this before.

Apparently, at some point in college, pretty girls with no self esteem look into joining a sorority.

These girls, if their daddies make enough money, are then allowed into the sorority where they have to pay dues on a regular basis in order to call these other girls "friends".

While in college, these girls depend on each other to boost each other's self esteem by telling them how awesome they look and hugging them while squealing. And then reminding them to call their daddies because their dues checks are a day late.

On a daily basis, sorority girls tend to squeal more than terrified pigs in a slaughterhouse.

In case you haven't figured it out ... I fucking despise sorority girls.

So these girls want to form a circle around the bride and groom, light a candle, pass the candle around and sing some fucked up song about how God made the two of them for each other in tones so fucking quiet that they wouldn't disturb a flea.

I've had this happen at other wedding receptions and have good-naturedly dubbed it "The Most Fucked Up Thing You Can Do At A Wedding Reception".

Because by the time this fucking "Freebird"-length miserable chanting is finished, three quarters of the guests have high-tailed it out of there to catch the 10:00 news.

The other quarter of the guests that are still there are only there because the sorority girls are letting them fuck them at the end of the evening as long as they promise to wear a jimmy hat.

Naturally, the girls finally stopped singing and passing the candle around which is now nothing more than hot wax scarring their $125 pedicures for life.

They look around and even the wait staff and Frenchie are half asleep.

"How about a big hand for Sally's sorority sisters?" I bark into the microphone.

Dead.

Fucking.

Silence.

The groom comes up and says "We're going to end it a little early."

Duh, Einstein. There's nobody left here except you, me and a dozen uppity whores making tiny wax penises out of the shit they're scraping off their hands.

I bid them all farewell without cursing and packed my stuff up.

Here's the clincher ...

As I carted out the last of my stuff, I walked past Frenchie.

"You did an excellent job, Sir," he said.

And what did I say??

"Thank you sir."