Yes, we proudly announced the names: Wind Ensemble and Symphonic
Winds. It was so much better than marching band. We savored the delicate
taste as it touched our tongues when we pronounced it. And best of all, we
had more field trips. And our first would be to the airport.
After all the excess, unnecessary events of the preparation, we loaded the buses. (School buses, to be exact.) Our band director appeared from behind the rack of stands to tell us, "This is no longer a football game. It's a concert. So look your best, everyone!" We all had tried. Although our sashless, hatless uniforms were supposed to make us more sophisticated and professional, we looked and felt naked. And it was hard to imagine being sophisticated as we watched the trombone section sneak the clarinet parts into the flute cases and vice versa.
The ride to the airport was horribly long. The windows had no will to close, so the girls had to hold their hair down to prevent it from flying out of the window. When the ride ended, nearly all the girls had frizzy hair that flew out of their heads like Medusa.
An airport employee greeted the band and guided them to Terminal Six. They stopped behind a door. "For the safety of all visitors, we have to inspect you first," he announced.
"Oh, like we have anything hazardous with us," said Jean, sarcastically. They began to walk through the metal detector, but as soon as the trumpet player went through, the alarm went off like an angry, rabid goose gone mad. The musician fell as several security officers tackled him to the ground. Eventually, they discovered that the metal locks on the case had activated the alarm and the trumpet player hobbled to his chair in the terminal.
As soon as everyone set up, they began to play. Unfortunately, shaken from the excitement, they did not come in together and the trumpet solo was weak, encouraging the other sections to sound sober in the middle of their jubilant children songs pack.
The first break came and the jazz band ran to the other side of the terminal to play. But the auxiliary had gotten there first and moved anything that was in the way. Fred watched as his trombone rolled down the escalator to be carried off by a bypasser to who-knows-where.
One trombone short, the jazz musicians played, horrendously fast and out of tune.
The airport employees finally brought food to relieve the mouths of the young band members. To their surprise and relief, they found that the cookies and milk tasted fine. They had been expecting food poisoning because of their luck.
During the break, sax player Jay noticed a friend across the room. "Yo!" he yelled. "Hey! Jack!" Jack didn't turn around. At the top of his lungs came, "HI, JACK!!!!" Security took action immediately.
And once again they played, sending cookie into their instruments. In a desperate despair to attempt to remove it, first-year flute player Carlos ran his keys under water. Heh heh.
Anyway, a fellow tuba player decided to watch the jazz band perform. They were lousy, so he tried to build their music. "You da bomb!" People stopped in their tracks to find the invading homicide bomber, screaming loudly, and running in circles, flapping their arms. Security quickly flew out to grab the tuba player.
Well, everything finally ended. The "excitement" and "fun" was over. And no one really saw the sax or tuba player again...
After all the excess, unnecessary events of the preparation, we loaded the buses. (School buses, to be exact.) Our band director appeared from behind the rack of stands to tell us, "This is no longer a football game. It's a concert. So look your best, everyone!" We all had tried. Although our sashless, hatless uniforms were supposed to make us more sophisticated and professional, we looked and felt naked. And it was hard to imagine being sophisticated as we watched the trombone section sneak the clarinet parts into the flute cases and vice versa.
The ride to the airport was horribly long. The windows had no will to close, so the girls had to hold their hair down to prevent it from flying out of the window. When the ride ended, nearly all the girls had frizzy hair that flew out of their heads like Medusa.
An airport employee greeted the band and guided them to Terminal Six. They stopped behind a door. "For the safety of all visitors, we have to inspect you first," he announced.
"Oh, like we have anything hazardous with us," said Jean, sarcastically. They began to walk through the metal detector, but as soon as the trumpet player went through, the alarm went off like an angry, rabid goose gone mad. The musician fell as several security officers tackled him to the ground. Eventually, they discovered that the metal locks on the case had activated the alarm and the trumpet player hobbled to his chair in the terminal.
As soon as everyone set up, they began to play. Unfortunately, shaken from the excitement, they did not come in together and the trumpet solo was weak, encouraging the other sections to sound sober in the middle of their jubilant children songs pack.
The first break came and the jazz band ran to the other side of the terminal to play. But the auxiliary had gotten there first and moved anything that was in the way. Fred watched as his trombone rolled down the escalator to be carried off by a bypasser to who-knows-where.
One trombone short, the jazz musicians played, horrendously fast and out of tune.
The airport employees finally brought food to relieve the mouths of the young band members. To their surprise and relief, they found that the cookies and milk tasted fine. They had been expecting food poisoning because of their luck.
During the break, sax player Jay noticed a friend across the room. "Yo!" he yelled. "Hey! Jack!" Jack didn't turn around. At the top of his lungs came, "HI, JACK!!!!" Security took action immediately.
And once again they played, sending cookie into their instruments. In a desperate despair to attempt to remove it, first-year flute player Carlos ran his keys under water. Heh heh.
Anyway, a fellow tuba player decided to watch the jazz band perform. They were lousy, so he tried to build their music. "You da bomb!" People stopped in their tracks to find the invading homicide bomber, screaming loudly, and running in circles, flapping their arms. Security quickly flew out to grab the tuba player.
Well, everything finally ended. The "excitement" and "fun" was over. And no one really saw the sax or tuba player again...