Description
They say never meet your heroes, but they'll call me for my next gig once they find the mix CD I slipped into their record bag.
I first saw him coming out of the toilets: The Godfather of Techno (not Dave Clarke, the other one). It was like looking into a mirror, minus the weary 2 a.m. eyes. I approached with a smile, wiped my damp hands on my baggy combats, and extended my hand for a hello and a guest slot. He looked at my hand, shook his head, said "No, mate," and walked away. Rude, but he missed my potential.
I stood close to the decks with my two bags of records, just in case, waiting while 'other so-called DJs' played. Posting selfies on my DJ socials (19 followers and growing baby).
When he finally started, his set was so slow, not even vinyl! I figured he had time for me now. I waved my hand for 20 minutes until he noticed.
He beckoned me over. I leaned in, ready.... "Get off the stage, dumbumunt!" he yelled.
Security got involved, I had every right to be there. I'm a DJ.
