The DJ from Olympus

in #pic10004 months ago

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There's never been a girl disc jockey in this town.
Much less in this club.
At the head of the DJ's table there were always impersonal guys in stale fleece jackets with hoods that covered most of their faces.
And these guys thought they were some kind of gods, despite the fact that they couldn't tell the difference between BPM and CBR and constantly confused “turntable” with “pancake”.
I looked up to them as gods until I was twelve, too.
I'll never forget when my older sister secretly took me to a club where a DJ with the strange nickname “Skunk” was rocking.
I was crazy about his ability to move his whole body to the rhythm of the music and turn on the crowd with half a turn.
At halftime, my sister personally introduced me to Skunk.
When he got close to me, I realized why they call him that.
But I still almost fainted. Whether it was the excitement or the smell of the DJ.
From that day on, I was determined to become a DJ.
And not just any DJ, but a top DJ, the best.
At first I thought that the violin music school, which I had attended since I was six years old, would not be of any use to me in this difficult quest.
But I was wrong!
The electric violin and vocals, my grandmother's lessons on an old piano, and secret hobbies of heavy rock in my dad's garage on a shabby vinyl record player all came in handy later on.
When you go to your dream, you don't go around obstacles, you just don't notice them.
My first experience as a DJ was at my sister's party that almost went off the rails.
The lead DJ of the event three hours before the start suddenly announced that he did not want to waste his talent on some high school students and went into all sorts of trouble, including illegal drugs combined with strong alcohol.
My sister ran into my room and with tears in her eyes asked me to somehow support the music of the party.
I hugged my sister and said:
“Calm down and don't worry. If the party guests will not look at the table DJ, they will not notice that behind the console is not that pompous pavian - an alcoholic, and a simple schoolgirl with a musical education”
The main thing for me that night was not to let my sister down.
When I went up on the platform and stood in front of the familiar old console, the world of music turned for me into an exclusive release, which I myself had carefully prepared in advance especially for such parties.
Probably the muse Euterpe herself was telling me where to apply re-edit, where to remix and where to scratch.
The guests of the party more and more often began to come to the podium and listen to the work of the girl DJ.
And at the end of the evening, when I managed to rap a classic aria, the crowd exploded with applause.
Everyone was asking for a repeat of the party hit and recording it on their smartphones.
And as I was packing up my flash drives and turning off the equipment, my sister and the captain of the school basketball team came up to me.
“We're organizing a party to celebrate our championship win. - He said. - Can you be our DJ? Our whole team is asking for you!”
Since then, there has been a line lined up of people wanting to get little sister to DJ at their party.
And my sister brilliantly performed the role of my promoter, choosing the best events and blowing away dubious parties.
And then one day, after another party, a middle-aged man in a strict suit came up to me.
He said hello and handed me two business cards.
“I own a chain of youth clubs in the state. We've been considering you for the lead DJ position at the largest of them. Today I made sure my headhunters made the right choice in recommending you. If you agree, you can start next Saturday.”
I looked dumbfounded at the famous logo on the business cards and shifted my gaze to the man.
“I... I... of course...” I whispered and asked the stupidest question, ”Why two business cards?”
“Give the second one to your sister. - The man replied. - We are short of good marketers and promoters.”

https://steemit.com/hive-161155/@freewritehouse/2tnsqq-write-improve-your-skills-relax-join-a-picture-is-worth-a-thousand-words