An Open Letter: to The Booth Bitch

an open letter meoko

Booth bitch: listen up!

Before I begin, understand that I really am saying this for your own good. It seems the only logical explanation for your behaviour is that nobody has told you what you’re doing makes you look like a dickhead - or if they have - you’ve put it down to jealousy that they can’t work a dance floor into a frenzy like you can. But something needs to be said about the way you’ve taken to infiltrating the DJ booth (like so many others before) posing next to a man twice your age looking like a cheap escort.

boothbitch1

First of all, you’re not fooling anyone. We all saw you skulking by the entrance to the booth, waiting for the bouncer to take a fag break so that you could slip in unnoticed, after your elaborate attempt of wrapping a flyer over your wrist to imitate a VIP band failed miserably. We also saw every time Mr DJ palmed you off after you tried to get him to do a lazy fist pump in unison with you. He doesn’t want a line of your shit coke, doesn’t have one for you, and you were more likely to get a restraining order than phone number the way you were acting.

boothbitch2

Realising that any chance you thought you had with the superstar in the room had been blown once again, I watched as your attention gradually turned to the crowd after a couple of hours. It was around this time that the DJ booth transformed into a platform to radiate your sexuality across the entire room, and no inch of the dance floor was left untouched! You may not have caught the big fish, but you seemed confident that the chance of getting your paws on some sort of industry head or lesser-known talent is high… and that’s still worth some pretty major kudos. You’re too good for the jerk in this booth anyway, right? Nonetheless, despite your best efforts of looking like Nina Kraviz making ‘those eyes’ at everyone, it just looks a bit like you’re pranging out off some dodgy MXE. We’re embarrassed for you down here. Haven’t the Boiler Room sets taught you anything?

At the end of the day, surely you want to get your money’s worth? After all, it’s nice on the dance floor! People are having fun and the music sounds a lot better when you’re in front of the speakers than in some dead zone to the side of the monitors. Besides, you’re not going to make any friends brown nosing a guy that’s going to be on a plane back home in three hours.So for the love of God, take off those ridiculous high heels, turn down the intensity of your stare and come and have a fucking dance. Anyway, that woman dancing next to you that just wouldn’t piss off despite your best efforts? That’s the DJs wife. 

dj booth rules