Here's one of the funniest I've read on here, posted by Taffy. Know it goes on a bit but still makes me
"I have to share one quality episode of the many that become apparent when you are involved in running an event. These probably pass invisibly by when you attend as a paying customer.
On Saturday night, I was busy trying to sort the lights out in the Main Hall, we'd said we'd leave them on low to start with so that everyone could get their bearings, then we'd drop them right down from about 9pm. So with my head in a broom cupboard I'm off on "mission change the lights" (as with the best plans, the wrong ones are going on and the place is like a lighthouse for a couple of seconds). In the middle of the mild panic that inevitably takes over every time Captain Cock Up puts in an appearance when carrying out simple stuff like switching the lights on and off - I get the first "excuse me" from behind me.
With you in a minute, I reply. "Excuse Me" kin hell wrong light switch again, "Excuse me" shit total darkness now, the bead of cold sweat becomes a trickle. "Excuse me" WHAT ? I reply as politely as one can with one foot in a janitors bucket that's half full of water, a pint in hand and mops falling on your head and the building in total darkness. "What time is the band on?" Eh, kin who ? "The band" she says again in a rather worrying, not quite the full ticket, though scarily assertive way.
As I step out of the broom cupboard with the lighting semi sorted, the bucket still on my foot and 2 mops across my shoulders, the conversation carries on, "yes, I wish to know what time the band will be on" What band would this be Madam? I enquire, shaking the bucket off my foot and hurling the brooms back into the cupboard. "The live soul band you've been advertising" says she in a slightly more worrying way, clearly getting the gist that her expectations may not be about to be fully met.
Hmmm "these here adverts", I say in a very slow and deliberate way, remembering all those conflict avoidance courses from work, backing off slightly at the same time and wishing I had a stab vest on. Where did it say that there was a live band on, Madam ? "Here", says she, waving one of our flyers and pointing at it, her eyes now rather glazed and much closer together as well. Now try as I might, I could not read any combination of the words on the flyer, backwards, sideways or as anagrams, that could lead anyone to believe we will have a live soul band on.
HERE ! She says with a strange smile and icy stare as she jabs at the flyer, ahhhh thinks I, she's pointing at the names of our 4 djs. Now I've heard Paul McKay sing and it ain't exactly a harmonic experience. Jon Downs and Stubbsy were never candidates for the Temps and Rob Messer is more Borat than Barry White in the singing stakes.
Ahhh says I, thinking this is heading for a Monty Python cheese shop ending, with a policeman walking in and saying Stop, this is getting Silly ! Yes, the adverts, quite. Erm, well let me try to explain, you see madam, the gentlemen listed on that there advertisement you hold in your hand are not in fact members of the extremely famous, world renowned band "100% Quality Soul" They are in fact members of a strange fraternity known as Dee Jays.
DEEEEEE JAAAAAYZZZZZZ she repeats back at me ever so slowly and deliberately in that Deliverance over the top, shrill kind of way that let's you know that was the wrong answer, slowly turning round to look over her shoulder at the stage. Does that mean I am at a disco ? Erm, well Madam, that is not actually considered an apt description for such a gathering, it would be more accurately termed a soul night as they can be rather sensitive about such things.
They are DEEEE JAAAYZZZZZ, this is a D-I-S-C-O, I don't go to D-I-S-C-O-SSSSS. Says the loony one , as clearly she is.
At that point she turned on her heels and disappeared into the crowded darkness of the dancefloor, I never did see her again. So apologies to anyone (nutters or not) who may have turned up at Rayleigh expecting to see the world famous band 100% Quality Soul. They're not on until our May night
Taff