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Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Tucson: DJ Percocet. Train. Velcro. Dreads.

posted by on September 10 at 11:46 AM

BlueWhale.jpgA man in Tucson swallowed many percocets. He opened his mouth like a gigantic blue whale and let the percocets float in like plankton. Then he tried to DJ. He was the opening act at a club called Plush. He drank bourbon. And had a drum machine. There were technical difficulties.

He lost sound to the main house speakers but he had headphones on, so he couldn’t tell. His music and beats had been new age and hip hoppy. There was silence for a good four minutes. Silence except for his heavy breath, and every once in a while he would sort of grunt, “Mmmh.” He was working hard, pushing buttons, and doing a hip sway DJ shuffle pill dance. He had no idea the people in the room could hear nothing. Whatever was in his headphone mix must have sounded phenomenal. A group of girls could be heard arguing, “I’m not going up there to tell him!”

Finally someone walked up and tapped him on the shoulder and told him no one could hear what he was doing. I guess the sound engineer thought it was part of the act. The DJ was horrified and tried unsuccessfully to fix the problem. That was the end to his set. People clapped and he apologized. He was almost in tears and said nothing like that had ever happened to him before.

Later he confessed to me about the percocets. We were in his car, crossing train tracks way too slow, and there was an approaching train. I’m not kidding. He was giving me a ride after the show. We were going over the tracks, and he said, “Yeah, I’ve been eating percocets all night. That’s probably why I fucked up earlier.” You think? Then I noticed the distant light of the train. Great timing to tell me about the pills, chief. For an unkind instant, I thought, “This is how I’m going to go. This pill popping plankton sifting whale of a DJ is going to end me.”

The instant prolonged and I imagined what it would feel like to have the momentum and tonnage and steel of an oncoming locomotive engine barrel through my body. My right arm and leg would be immediately decimated. No, my entire being would be immediately decimated. That’s when I noticed he was wearing velcro shoes. *Ding* VELCRO SHOES. It all made sense. He would get so messed up on pills he couldn’t tie his shoes.

The percocet filled DJ stepped on the gas. We cleared the tracks. No train barreled into the car. When we reached the destination, he tried to parallel park, which was like watching him compete in a decathlon. He dented the car in front of his and said, “It’s cool. I know her. She’s got dreads.”

RSS icon Comments

1

“It’s cool. I know her. She’s got dreads.”

I'm using that for EVERYTHING!

Posted by paulus | September 10, 2008 12:23 PM
2

I remember a guy selling pills at the Colourbox in the bathroom. Later that night I watched him walk off a step in the back of the club and hit the floor hard. It was as if he had no idea the step was there. Then he got up like nothing was wrong, blood running down his face.

Posted by drheavy | September 10, 2008 12:27 PM
3

I know.... I had to stop hanging out with that kid.

Posted by Wolf Blitzer | September 10, 2008 12:35 PM
4

Sorry, but I have to tell you... I was on an Amtrak train in Jacksonville FL that hit a pickup truck that was trying to cross the tracks at the wrong time... killed the driver... they were scooping him up for miles up and down the tracks. Crew that had just been smiley and helpfull were fully traumatized when we switched trains in New Orleans.

I never even heard or felt an impact, I just remember thinking "We must be running over some branches or something."

Posted by Wolf Blitzer | September 10, 2008 12:41 PM

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