If you have not known this yet, I suggest you learn now.
My name is Brad. I have not spoken a sentence outside of 'a double shot cappuccino' or 'no, it's the C key. Star again.'
I'm the piano guy. You'll see me pounding away at the piano whilst dramatic, peppy, teens sing and dance around me like they've had too many juice boxes. I tutor a boy named Karofsky at the piano. He's a beginner, but he's doing quite well. But he does have an annoying habit of talking about his problems. I don't reply, I just nod. I've had a shot of tequila or two with a Spanish teacher. He's also the reason I loathe my job from 2-4pm. He also cries when he's drunk.
I learned how to play Chopsticks at the age of four, and somehow I went from San Diego, California, to Lima, Ohio. My wife passed away two years ago. Cancer's a bitch.
The first thing a student said to me was, "Your beard seems like it's really soft." That was from some blonde ditzy cheerleader.
None of those goddamn glee kids know my name. Other than the Jewish loud girl. None of them know that I actually have won piano competitions. That I have a five year old son named Geof and that we go to the park on Saturdays. And that after he saw me perform at Regionals, he cameup to me and asked, "Can I sing and play the piano?" That I told him yes and that he now listens to the soundtrack of Rent whenever we're in the car. How I still make my grandmother's meatball sandwiches, or that I sometimes watch American Idol and laugh at how much the contestants suck. The glee kids are much better.
I was sitting at the piano, waiting for another brat to demand a song. Sure enough...
"Mr. Schue? I have a song I would like to sing." It was a kid in a wheelchair. His glasses are slick. At least he's not JewCrazyGirl or TooTallFuturamaFroKid. Or even GayKidPrincess. I think I'll call him NerdOnWheels.
"Sure, Artie." I make no mental note about the kid's name. If they can't learn my name, then I won't learn theirs.
"Hit it!" he says to me.
And I don't. I wait, patiently, tapping my foot. Everyone is confused, especially NerdOnWheels. I clear my throat, and mouth 'magic word'.
"Oh," he says. "Please hit it. Sorry, Brad."
I nod my head, and start playing.
At the end of the day, the kid pauses before he wheels out. "You did great today, Brad."
I smile gruffly. "You too, Artie."
A/N: There you have it, the self pity of one lonely piano player. I have no clue why I always make Artie so damn awesome.