I have nothing but respect for cheese room DJ’s and here’s why

They’ve seen more than you could ever imagine


If you’ve ever done a proper club night sober, you’ll have seen some shit. What most people tend to lose to their drunk subconcious, you’ll have ingrained in your memory for life. You’ll have watched wobbly girls in the tightest dresses stand haphazardly at the bar, their ass sticking out just enough to catch the attention of some himbo in a Kenzo top or nonce in a shirt, whose just intoxicated enough to think he can buy this girl a drink and she won’t run away from him.

Its funny once or twice, actually getting to keep the memories of a messy night out with the gals, but there’s one thing that you’d probably rather wish you could forget (and no its not that tory fresher that tried to grind on you), its what the cheese room really looks like at 2am. When you’re drunk all you see is the cool lights, you’re too focused on singing the words to those songs only white people know all the words to, and maybe trying to find a fitty in the crowds. But take the beer goggles off and you’ll find a tribute to one of the world’s most chaotic and disgusting creations, drunk white people. And above it all, safely tucked in their booth and forced to watch over it all, is the coveted cheese room DJ.

Night after night they stand there, playing the same god awful tracks over and over again, watching wankered twenty-somethings loose their shit at every 90’s pop song that comes on. They stand guard as groups of girls, holding hands to link themselves, force their way through the crowds, smearing fake tan on anyone who was stupid enough to wear white to the club, before arriving in the smallest gap on the dancefloor and spreading out, pushing others to the side so they can grind on each other to Cotton Eyed Joe.

Those poor dj’s who listen to the same playlist that would be unacceptable anywhere but in that room, like a teacher stuck at a never ending year 6 disco but with STDs and ket. I can’t even imagine how many cringe inducing make out seshes they’ve been victim to, just trying to do their job when a couple of trollied cretins decide to tongue fuck each other right in front of them. And its not just once of twice they have to deal with this, its every fucking night, at least 4 nights a week.

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I honestly don’t know how they do it, personally I think I would have to down 4 redbulls and a couple Nyquils in the hope I would black out for my entire shift until the last sozzled slag falls into a taxi and I would be free. I give absolutely nothing but respect to these heroes of the nightclub, they exist within a fever dream and have probably witnessed more atrocities against the human race than any military officer. God bless you music man, I hope you’ve used quarantine to find some kind of solace, and if not, at least you know you’ll always be appreciated when you play Come On Eileen.