Author's Note: I suddenly had the urge to write this, so it was rather
hastily written, and my first thing posted on ff.net. I can't decide if
it's silly, serious, or just plain trash. Actually, our band director told
us that all percussionists are trash, so maybe that's unavoidable. Hmmm...
Anyway, I'll stop rambling so you can read.
Normally, when I arrive at the Percussion Room, the center of the percussionists' world, I simply push the door open and enter as easily as I would enter my own home. It might as well be my home; I spend as much time at one as at the other. But the other day, my hand froze halfway in its path to the doorknob. There was a sign on the door, made from notebook paper and written in ballpoint pen. The title read, "Eviction Notice!" Scanning the paragraph, I started to smile, but it quickly turned into sigh. The sign itself wasn't serious ( something about being banished to the colorguard bus to listen to pop music if you didn't obey...), but the matter it referred to wasn't as lighthearted. It leans more towards the puzzling and disturbing end of the scale.
Our percussion director recently announced that in an effort to reduce theft of equipment, the room's constant state of trashiness, and the insane things that go on in there, percussionists are no longer allowed in the percussion room.
Makes sense. Of course it will cut down on theft, as the doors are unlocked so that people can practice if they so desire, and anyone can enter at anytime, including non-percussionists if the room is empty. The room will always be a mess; we're not the most organized of people, but we do make an effort, and hold cleaning sessions. Also, now our insane activities will simply be relocated to the hallways, outside, or, worst of all, the band hall.
Seriously though, they're taking the percussion room from the percussionists. This place really is like a home to us. It isn't just a place to store all our trash and hold hacky sack tournaments. That room is the essence of everything we're about. You probably understand more than you think you do. Which of you doesn't spend an unhealthy amount of time in the band hall, yet you don't dislike it at all? I've always felt comfortable in there, no matter what was going on. After a long trip from an exhausting performance, after the long and drawn out process of unloading both of the trucks, after the uniforms are off, that percussion room door is one of the most wonderful things one could see. It tells you you're home, and that no matter how dirty the performance was, nothing has changed. Everything's right.
But everything isn't right. Our home was taken away. I'm sorry if you think this writing is melodramatic, I'm ranting over nothing, and that the whole matter is ridiculous. I'm sorry you think that, but think of something else for a moment. What if they forbid the band from going into the band hall? Wouldn't you be confused and angry? If that happened to you, would you not post something about it on ff.net? That's what I thought.
Tell me what you think of the whole situation. I would like to hear your opinions, really. I don't know what made me write this, except for the reason that its something I feel strongly about.
We're percussionists without a home.
Normally, when I arrive at the Percussion Room, the center of the percussionists' world, I simply push the door open and enter as easily as I would enter my own home. It might as well be my home; I spend as much time at one as at the other. But the other day, my hand froze halfway in its path to the doorknob. There was a sign on the door, made from notebook paper and written in ballpoint pen. The title read, "Eviction Notice!" Scanning the paragraph, I started to smile, but it quickly turned into sigh. The sign itself wasn't serious ( something about being banished to the colorguard bus to listen to pop music if you didn't obey...), but the matter it referred to wasn't as lighthearted. It leans more towards the puzzling and disturbing end of the scale.
Our percussion director recently announced that in an effort to reduce theft of equipment, the room's constant state of trashiness, and the insane things that go on in there, percussionists are no longer allowed in the percussion room.
Makes sense. Of course it will cut down on theft, as the doors are unlocked so that people can practice if they so desire, and anyone can enter at anytime, including non-percussionists if the room is empty. The room will always be a mess; we're not the most organized of people, but we do make an effort, and hold cleaning sessions. Also, now our insane activities will simply be relocated to the hallways, outside, or, worst of all, the band hall.
Seriously though, they're taking the percussion room from the percussionists. This place really is like a home to us. It isn't just a place to store all our trash and hold hacky sack tournaments. That room is the essence of everything we're about. You probably understand more than you think you do. Which of you doesn't spend an unhealthy amount of time in the band hall, yet you don't dislike it at all? I've always felt comfortable in there, no matter what was going on. After a long trip from an exhausting performance, after the long and drawn out process of unloading both of the trucks, after the uniforms are off, that percussion room door is one of the most wonderful things one could see. It tells you you're home, and that no matter how dirty the performance was, nothing has changed. Everything's right.
But everything isn't right. Our home was taken away. I'm sorry if you think this writing is melodramatic, I'm ranting over nothing, and that the whole matter is ridiculous. I'm sorry you think that, but think of something else for a moment. What if they forbid the band from going into the band hall? Wouldn't you be confused and angry? If that happened to you, would you not post something about it on ff.net? That's what I thought.
Tell me what you think of the whole situation. I would like to hear your opinions, really. I don't know what made me write this, except for the reason that its something I feel strongly about.
We're percussionists without a home.