"Crank up the tunes, Dude!" a sweaty high school teen yelled at my friend, Darrell.
We were in a very small town and I was helping Darrell with a DJ gig he had landed. In return for free pizza, I would often help Darrell with his gigs. Since it is against my religion to turn down free pizza (or any food in general, for that matter) this was a frequent occurrence.The DJ gig was for the grand opening of a new deli/bar/teen hangout. One side of the building housed the bar, the side we were on was a room about 60 ft. x 30 ft. that was a small deli. To attract teens, the owner had brought in several ancient video games and a dilapidated jukebox. Thin walls separated the bar from the deli and a door connected the two establishments.
With 30 or so teens, the place was pretty crowded and the owner was ecstatic that we had attracted so much attention.
Darrell had thousands upon thousands of dollars of equipment. He would often run sound for outdoor graduations or large auditorium events with the same equipment we were using for this small grand opening. Huge speakers sat in each corner of the room. The table that we were at barely was large enough to hold his sixteen channel mixing board and other various equipment. When Darrell ran his first sound check, several picture frames fell off the wall.
As the evening progressed, the noise level steadily rose higher and higher as more and more teens arrived. Darrell kept adjusting the music level up as needed, and soon the place was rocking with picture frames occasionally crashing down from time to time. The owner didn't seem to mind.
It was then that a large cowboy opened the door and peeked in. Catching Darrell's attention, he made a motion to lower the volume of the music. I looked at Darrell and I swear I could see him growing little devil horns. Pretending that he "misunderstood" the cowboy's hand signals, he kept adjusting the volume louder and louder. The cowboy was now frantically waving his hands like he intended to attempt flight. Darrell just smiled, nodded and turned the volume up even more to the delight of the teens.
Frustrated that he wasn't being understood, the cowboy bellowed, "TURN THE MUSIC DOWN! YOU'RE KNOCKING PICTURES OFF THE WALLS IN HERE!"
Looking over at Darrell, I see that the horns have grown a little larger.
"What?" Yells Darrell back to the cowboy. "You want me to turn it up? Sure thing!" and the volume increased. Have I mentioned that the cowboy was large?
Shaking his head "no", the cowboy yells back, "TURN IT DOWN, I SAID! NOT UP!"
"Up? O.K!", yells Darrell and makes another adjustment on the volume slide.
It is now that I start to get worried. The cowboy is clearly getting madder and madder. I can see the writing on the wall, and it doesn't look good. I should mention here that the cowboy was large.
"What are you doing?" I ask Darrell. "That is one angry, drunk cowboy you're messing with."
He gives me the "thumbs up" sign.
Thumbs up? Uh, oh. I remove my glasses in anticipation for the impending fisticuffs.
Then a very angry and drunk and large (Have I mentioned that he was large?) cowboy stomped over to the table.
Leaning over the table he yelled, "TURN THE MUSIC DOWN!"
The size of Darrell's horns have grown to about the size of a healthy ram. I am surprised that no one else has seemed to notice the horns.
"Oh" says Darrell faking surprise. He had a large smile on his face. "I thought you wanted the music turned up. My mistake."
I would like to say that this is the end of the story. But, no. Darrell was now sporting horns that would rival some of the steers in Texas.
Throughout the night, the angry cowboy -- who was very large, I might add -- would be compelled to come in. Each time, Darrell would give him a huge smile and a "thumbs up" and turn the volume down...fractionally...until the cowboy exited the room.
Eventually, one of the teens came up to the table.
"You might want to keep it down. Bill is my uncle" he said indicating to the door in which the cowboy (large) had exited. "I can tell he is about to blow."
"What's his story, anyway?" asked Darrell. "Why is he so bent out of shape?"
I kind of thought I knew that answer to that one.
"He's mad because he is trying to hit on Cindy, but she's playing hard-to-get." I guess the teen assumed we knew who Cindy was.
I light bulb flashed on above Darrell's head. I begin limbering up my muscles. This couldn't end up good for us.
At the conclusion of the next song Darrell grabbed his microphone and announced:
"Here is one going out to a lonely cowboy and cowgirl looking for love. Bill and Cindy, come on in and take center floor!"
A cheer went out from the teens. A few moments later, the door cracks open and Bill peeks in. He points to himself as if to ask, "Who, me?"
"There he is" says Darrell. "Now where is the lovely Cindy?"
Bill cracked a huge smile at Darrell and rushed back into the other room. Several moments later he came back with a petite redhead in tow.
Right on cue, Darrell starts the music and the couple slow dance in the middle of the floor.
Silently, I put my glasses back on and wipe the sweat off of my forehead. I look over at Darrell and he gives me the "thumbs up".
After the gig, Bill and Darrell talk like they've been the best of friends for years. After they shake hands, Darrell went back to packing equipment and Bill and Cindy came out as I am loading the truck.
I smile and waved, relieved that I didn't have to fight the cowboy (who was very large).
Stopping, the cowboy looked over at me.
"You better watch yourself, son. The only reason I don't kick your butt is because you're friends with Darrell."
