< by Jill >

On Monday night at 7 p.m., Nate and I pulled up to a quiet, one-level business complex and added our car to the vacant lot. As we approached the building, I felt a pang of anxiety — the complex looked deserted, and I highly doubted that we’d find a suitable wedding deejay inside.

Much to my surprise, the front door gave way to a sleek, welcoming studio. A receptionist smiled and pointed us toward a carousel of k-cups, free for the sipping. After a short wait, Spero, a deejay of nearly 20 years, welcomed us into his office.

It wasn’t what I expected — no black lights, no gimmicks, no cheese — but that’s a good thing. The consultation lasted an hour, making it the longest wedding-related meeting we’ve had thus far. (Heads up, wedding guests: You will not be do-si-doing to the “Boot Scootin’ Boogie” or wiggling lasciviously to “Sexy and I Know It.”)

Spero sent us home with a business card and a service proposal.

On the drive back to the city, we realized: When it comes to wedding vendors, our final decisions generally boil down to the salesperson, not the service. The nice ones win our business.

In this case, it will be Spero who spins the hits of the 1950s, 60s, and 70s as we twist, shout, and wiggle with puritanical modesty.