I once had a bar. Well, sometimes at the beginning of the shift I stood up for the DJ controller. There is no one yet (at night). I worked with a girl then as an officer, a pipet, all such a devout, right stereotypical nun, you will never hear a matte word from her, shorter than Mother Teresa. Well, here, I sit behind the controller, playing all kinds of music. I play loud. Here she quietly approaches me from the back, bends over her shoulder and pronounces, “Dolb**b.” I, slowly, scaryly, slowly turn my head, simultaneously twisting the volume to zero and so upset: What? and silence. And she repeats with a smile: Who sings?