Part three, part three... here I will tell you about my favorite thing in the world. Not really as funny as the others, but once again this is a real band experience.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I heard the crowd's screams echoing in my ears. Why were they so loud? it was giving me a headache. I sprinted into the bleachers and yanked off my helmet. I sat down, and then leaped up again. The metal bleachers were cold, and my pants were thin. It shouldn't have been cold, it was only 9:30. But wait... third quarter... freedom... now?
Yes, the show was over. The crowds had loved us despite the fact that Drum Major A had forgotten, of all things, to give us the horns-up cue. But, being made sensitive (I'm the only mellophone player in the damn band, and my line's full of idiots...) by certain events, I gave her no trouble. She wasn't the one who told me that I didn't have a spot in the show. She wasn't the one who told me to spin in circles on the 50.
I sat on the icy metal bleachers, shako by my feet, next to my mellophone case, sipping an iced root beer. Best two bucks I ever spent, at least I thought so at the time. I can't be the only person who enjoys things more when they cost too much. I have to enjoy them, or I don't get my money's worth. And I really need a new mouthpiece.
But I digress. I think. My work here is not to make sense.
The point, I guess, is that there is nothing like sitting on cold bleachers, with everyone but the Guardie who moved in from Chicago amazed at how you take the "cold."
God, I love band.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I heard the crowd's screams echoing in my ears. Why were they so loud? it was giving me a headache. I sprinted into the bleachers and yanked off my helmet. I sat down, and then leaped up again. The metal bleachers were cold, and my pants were thin. It shouldn't have been cold, it was only 9:30. But wait... third quarter... freedom... now?
Yes, the show was over. The crowds had loved us despite the fact that Drum Major A had forgotten, of all things, to give us the horns-up cue. But, being made sensitive (I'm the only mellophone player in the damn band, and my line's full of idiots...) by certain events, I gave her no trouble. She wasn't the one who told me that I didn't have a spot in the show. She wasn't the one who told me to spin in circles on the 50.
I sat on the icy metal bleachers, shako by my feet, next to my mellophone case, sipping an iced root beer. Best two bucks I ever spent, at least I thought so at the time. I can't be the only person who enjoys things more when they cost too much. I have to enjoy them, or I don't get my money's worth. And I really need a new mouthpiece.
But I digress. I think. My work here is not to make sense.
The point, I guess, is that there is nothing like sitting on cold bleachers, with everyone but the Guardie who moved in from Chicago amazed at how you take the "cold."
God, I love band.