Check the Batteries

On August 14, 2016, I had fifty people waiting on me to get them from Orlando to Tampa to see Tchami.

I had the bus. I had the tickets. I had two pickup locations. I had DJ decks, two DAS Audio speakers, alcohol, a microphone, and fifty people ready to party.

What I did not have were charged batteries.

This was one of my first ventures into running events. I had negotiated a 50-person charter bus for $600 round trip, with pickups downtown and near Disney. I also worked out a deal with Tampa Beach Bar that allowed everyone I brought to pay early-bird admission pricing on the day of the show.

I sold the whole thing as a package: transportation and admission.

Behind the scenes, the operation was primitive but recognizable.

I promoted through Facebook and Facebook groups. I tracked names and payments in a spreadsheet. People paid me through Cash App or handed me cash. I coordinated the bus, the venue, the DJs, the passenger list, and the two pickup locations.

Then there was the party itself.

Everybody brought their own alcohol. We loaded DJ equipment and two loudspeakers onto a charter bus, powered by car batteries connected to inverters. I'd get on the microphone, introduce everyone, and set expectations for the day.

Don't trash the bus. Don't get too drunk. This isn't our venue, so respect it.

And most importantly:

Don't be that guy.

Don't be the guy who gets so drunk everyone else has to take care of him. Don't be the guy making women uncomfortable. We were showing up together, and whether people realized it or not, we represented each other.

That morning, I realized the batteries powering our sound system hadn’t been properly charged.

I was frustrated. More than that, I was embarrassed.

I'd promised people a party bus, and the centerpiece of a party bus is generally the party.

But everybody was cool about it. Drinks came out. People talked. The bus kept moving toward Tampa.

Once we arrived, I got everyone inside the venue and quietly disappeared.

I took an Uber to an auto-parts store, bought batteries, and came back.

There wasn't much ceremony to it. Something wasn't working, so I went and fixed it.

The ride home was what I'd imagined from the beginning.

Flozone was on the decks. The speakers had power. Everyone was still partying after an entire day at the show. And this time, somebody captured it on video.

Looking at that video years later, what surprises me isn't the party.

It's everything happening around it.

I was negotiating with vendors, collecting payments, coordinating transportation and DJs, setting expectations, and fixing equipment. At the time, I mostly thought I was throwing a party.

And, apparently, emergency battery procurement.

I didn't make much money on those trips. They weren't some brilliant business model.

But they taught me how many things have to happen correctly for fifty people to experience something as simple as a fun day out.

Most of those people probably never knew I left the venue to buy batteries.

That's part of the job too.

When something breaks, the people you're responsible for don't always need the story.

Sometimes they just need it working by the ride home.

After that trip, I always checked the batteries.