“Can the DJ stop the music and all the dancers please return to your seats?” said the Master of Ceremonies (MC), a burly man. He made the announcement as he stood in the small space between seven old men stationed behind the high table and the disco floor.

Although the burly man spoke with all his might, he was unable to overcome the boom-boom sound of the ongoing music. The few dancers who heard the announcement paid no attention to it and instead continued to dance with their partners.

Less than two minutes after the first warning, the voice rose again, saying in a more impatient tone, “Will the DJ stop the music and all the dancing feet go back to their chairs?” The fact that the dancers did not stop dancing and return to their seats made the man with the microphone doubt his authority. Well, he reasoned, who would blame them for staying on the dance floor when the music was still playing? It was the DJ, not the dancers, who had to suffer the insubordination of people who did not return to their seats.

Suddenly it occurred to the burly man that there was a possibility that the GM had a good reason for not having listened to his orders, even though he had given them loud and clear. He wanted to believe that to be true, but on second thought, he concluded that a good DJ must be attentive to the emcee’s direction at all times. As a matter of protocol, a DJ who disobeys an order from the MC has violated the basic rule of a party and must suffer the consequences.

Even though the DJ was wearing headphones, he heard the command to stop the music, but he was going to do it his way. No DJ worth his salt would abruptly stop dancers in mid-move. Also, the DJ hated the way the MC tried to push him in front of the audience. If they had been out on the field, where no one was looking, he would have hit the MC on the top of his head. However, in the interest of peace, he had started turning the music down, beginning the first time the MC gave the order.

“Not fast enough,” the man with the microphone cursed, and again signaled with his nose for the DJ to stop the music immediately. By this time, half of the dancers had left the dance floor, but the rest wanted to wait until the music completely finished. His intention caused an unnecessary delay, which further infuriated the man at the microphone, who made a sudden movement with his hand on his neck, a signal that the DJ should stop the music immediately.

People could feel a discord between the MC and the DJ, but only half of the audience, mostly the nosy ones, guessed all the details of the problems between the two. Many of the people who weren’t dancing didn’t care if the DJ kept up the music or not. Some of the spectators cheered for the DJ to get the upper hand in his dealings with the burly man with the microphone.

All the dancers left the disco floor and sat down when the music finally stopped. In his place, pacing the floor was the man with the microphone. Once the audience caught a glimpse of the full figure of him, they judged him by what they saw. Most of his weight started from his navel and extended to his waist. He was a hair under six feet. A red woolen hat with a rabbit tail covered half of his head.

Three times he cleared his throat. “For those who don’t know, my name is Ferdinand, but I won’t mind if you call me Fred.” Then he became aware of his big belly and gave him a secret pinch of friendship. “I stood before you,” she continued, “since I wanted every word I spoke tonight and on this occasion to stand tall in truth like a bamboo tree.”

“Why bother clearing your voice when you end up being hoarse anyway?” a man in the back corner of the ballroom near the kitchen whispered to another man, who wore a green hat perched on his right shoulder. The man with the microphone looked in the direction of the commentator and his neighbor as if he heard the comment made against him, but it was just a coincidence and he continued.

“Let’s start by giving a round of applause to the president of the occasion.” Saying that, he looked at the solemn faces of seven old men behind the high table, half of them on each side of the President, who, judging by his gray eyebrows, was the oldest among the companions.

Pointing to the men at the high table one after another, the MC said, “My achievement, these men’s achievement, was the result of mastering wisdom, proverbs, and wit, all combined with a certain degree of courage. and brutality. Success, my friends, is born of a marriage between brains and failure.”

He gave a quick second for applause, but none came, so he shifted gears. Turning to the seated audience, he said, “When I married my wife, I brought five cows with me and was willing to pay more in dowry if my father-in-law wanted me to, but he didn’t. After we got married, and agreed With the plan, my wife, Oriakum (the one who consumes the fruits of everything I work for)” – here he pointed in the direction of a woman with a towering hair scarf – “gave me three children, one child each year. Oriakum then went on to have twin daughters, one by the name of—“.

As the man with the microphone spoke, a short man in the audience rose to his feet and crawled toward him, table after table. Some in the audience who noticed him wondered what he was going to do. Perhaps he wanted to speak after the man with the microphone. “This party could end up as a speech party, where everyone lines up to talk about how successful and rich they’ve become,” said the neighbor of the man who made a mocking comment about the MC’s raspy voice.

Since he started speaking, the MC hadn’t gotten any applause from the audience, and that bothered the man with the microphone more than the humiliation he suffered at the hands of the DJ. He expected the audience to applaud every time he made comments, but they didn’t. This audience has failed to give him the appreciation he deserves, and he wouldn’t stop talking until they did. To resume the dance, they must first clap their hands. Some audiences are bad, and the one that was there that night was an example of that audience. With more time the applause will come, he told himself, and he began to expand on everything he had said before, not realizing that a man was approaching him, not to hug him but to confront him.

If the short man had made his intentions clearer, the man with the microphone would have backed away from him, because as huge as he was, he didn’t look like a man who wanted trouble, at least not under the dazzling gaze of the audience. On the other hand, the lower man was a belligerent person by nature; but that night his belligerence wasn’t necessarily because being short pushed him to project his personality, but because he too had something important to say, and he didn’t like how the big guy had dominated the microphone. Also, he hated the way the emcee interrupted the music and sent the dancers to their seats, without a sustainable challenge from the DJ, who thought he had the absolute right to how the music ended, especially when the audience was on the dance floor. .

When the man with the microphone realized that the shorter man intended to rip the microphone off him, he said to the invader: “Are we fighting over a piece of land, that you took it upon yourself to interrupt me in everything I have to do?” ?” say?” The man with the microphone was much taller and bulkier than the man who wanted to take his place, and since most of his weight was concentrated around his belly, he could have easily crushed the other man by falling on top of him. him on the platform of the discotheque, just as a child can crush an ant with his foot on a sandy ground.

What an ambush, he told himself. An ambush, which could disable the brave. Various options occurred to him. Whatever action is taken to deal with the situation, it must be brief and successful. He had a fight to win, as well as an image to protect. A protracted fight did not fit the picture he had painted for the audience with his speech. It would have been better for him to have the fight first and give the speech later. However, people don’t always choose the ways that problems find them. The man walking the shortest way toward him was asking for trouble, he concluded. Only because he had stopped the music. As appointed master of ceremonies, he had the right to interrupt the music and give speeches as long as he wanted.

Part of the fault was the public. If they had applauded loudly, he would have ended the speech and given the signal for the dancers to return. There were people that he knew would clap if they really heard his message. Where were they? Where is the mute and silent majority in any group? Until they hear him and show their applause, he must continue to make his point.

Vulnerability occurs when a man is in deep thought and that is what happened to the big man. Out of nowhere, the short man jumped up and grabbed onto the microphone, forcing the burly man’s upper body to bend at the waist, like a tree branch laden with hundreds of fruits. In severe pain, the fat man thought of throwing the little boy, along with the microphone, across the dance floor.

But, realizing that the short man would end up with the microphone device, he abandoned the plan. Instead, after recovering from his hunched position, using the microphone as leverage, he lifted the short man into the air, surmounting the highest chandeliers in the ballroom, almost to the ceiling. He planned to walk between the tables, return the little man to his seat, and he didn’t mind letting him fall freely onto the chair.

While in the air, the short guy realized that speed was the only advantage he possessed over his larger enemy, and he decided how to use that. Releasing the microphone, with precise control, he landed back on his feet.

Because he had had time to think about his actions, it didn’t take long for him to start pounding both fists on the protruding belly of the man with the microphone. Soft, like a pillow, he smiled as he punished his greatest enemy. Initially, the large man did not want to let go of the device, which he believed was the possible cause of the disagreement; but later, when he received more punishment from the little devil, he threw the microphone over the heads of the men on the high table, and it hit the wall behind and fell to the ground.

Surprisingly, the little man did not run to the device. If talking was what he wanted to do to the aggressor of him, why didn’t he go behind the microphone? asked the MC. As he pondered how to respond to the assault, he sought out the short man, who, to his chagrin, had gotten between his legs, just to torment him. From behind, he felt the tug on his belt, but mustered enough discipline to ignore it. Since the short man knew that, unlike him, the big man had an image to protect and care for him, he had no problem tormenting his opponent.

“Remember this,” the short man told the burly MC as he reached under the folded shirt to pinch the bulge at the waist. Concerned about his public image, the MC continued to hold on. Aside from the seven elders behind the high table and the DJ, no one paid detailed attention to the fight. To further obscure the view of the fight, the GM found a knob on the wall by his feet with which he dimmed the light in the ballroom. He also restarted the music and turned up the volume. Now “Let the music play” by Shannon was playing.

“Good choice of music,” the chair said to the man to his right. Suspicious of the reason for the interruption of the speech and the resumption of the music, no one came out to dance and no one spoke. Time passed past midnight. People began to file out of the ballroom. Shortly after, the party was over.