So I accompanied a coworker to a (Local City) Symphony Orchestra rehearsal. We were told that we would be able to hand out the Aflac packets we had. It was a new account.
OK… I’m going to say it…
OK… I’ve thought about it a little more and I’m not going to say it…
But, well… it was interesting. There were two college girls running the show. They were afraid of the musicians. I was afraid of the musicians too.
I put something on a table and was almost tackled by “security” and told that it was the table that the musicians put their instruments on while hanging up their jackets.
OH MY GOD! That would be horrible if for ONE freaking night that table had something else on it.
I then made the mistake of putting my bag on the Maestro’s couch. OMG! NEVER put anything on the Maestro’s couch.
He didn’t go near his couch the whole night but DO NOT put anything on it.
DO NOT look into the eyes of the musicians. They are geniuses you know. They are eclectic and egotistical (so we were told) and we couldn’t alter one iota of rehearsal night.
We were allowed to stay and watch. By that time I was too scared to sit anywhere. I finally found a seat way in the corner.
And wouldn’t you know, I had a clear view of the TRIANGLE guy who ALSO played the tambourine.
I’m completely convinced now that I can do his job.
The Maestro was getting irritated with the violin people. At one point he told them to circle something on their sheets if they needed to remember whatever it was he was mad about.
The Maestro thought he was so cool. Whenever he moved a body part, the musicians responded. He had THE power and he knew it.
I so badly wanted to approach him during the break and mention how I thought his arrangement of Handel’s “Messiah” was a little flat.
He even made Santa wait.
This eighty year-old guy was there in his Santa garb (he had the real whiskers and everything) and he just wanted to read The Night Before Christmas to see how long it would take during the real show.
Well from what I could tell, the Maestro said he didn’t know he was showing up and he couldn’t fit him in.
So eighty year-old Santa had to sit around and wait.
The really funny part of it was that Santa had bells on his boots and they jingled loudly every time he paced the floor (which was quite often).
I was fascinated though at the musicianship and skill of the players. The choir was there too. The Maestro worked the Hell out of them. He made them sing the same line over and over until it was the exact pitch as the trumpet.
I left before it was over because I have a hard time keeping my comments to myself and that familiar defiant feeling was beginning to overtake me.
It’s not like I would ever make a rude or disrespectful comment. NAH! I know my place in the pecking order of the society of talented strumming, plucking, banging, and blowing people.
I just don’t want them crying to me when they get some sort of arthritis in their bow hand and can’t work for two months.
That’s when they’ll wish they had given the Aflac reps a minute to hand them an envelope.