Grenadilla, Thy Bore Hast Charmed Me
Opportunism gets a bad rap, I think. Why shouldn't people take advantage of, you know, opportunities when they arrive? Check it out: the music store where I work also does a vast amount of business hosting private lessons for local street-urchins. For various arcane and mystical reasons, the Morphine-Addicted Owner of the store does not, as a rule, allow those of us who work as clerks at the counter to teach. But rules tend to bend when the store's sole saxophone-clarinet-flute teacher up and disappears one day, leaving his entire studio completely without an instructor. Enter Buckwalter and his plucky opportunism: "Morphine-Addicted Owner? Might I be considered to fill this unfortunate vacancy?"
The Morphine-Addicted Owner pulls the morphine lollipop* out of his mouth and says, "Sounds good to me." So the studio was carved up between myself and another opportunistic counter-worker, and that was that. She took the flute students and I took the clarinets and the saxophones.
Fine. No problem. Perfect. Money, I command you to roll in.
It took about twenty minutes for me to remember that even though I assured both the Morphine-Addicted Owner and the Diminutive Education Director that I could indeed both teach and play clarinet, I've never taught it, and only took a completely failed stab at learning it one summer when I was sixteen. (One always says "yes" in interviews when asked skills questions... Can you shoot out the eye of a foreign leader with an open-sight rifle at one thousand yards? Yes, I can. And I have. Many times.) Grimly, I recalled the sounds made by beginning clarinetists that cause birds to migrate early.
Gulp.
So, long story short, I've been practicing my ass off trying to learn the fine art of the clarinet well enough to help out my new students. So far, I haven't needed to do anything more than put the clarinet together and arrogantly display it on the sax stand in my studio. I've decided that I have fourteen days (or so) to get good enough that I can both play along with and demonstrate for the students. It seems like a reasonable goal right now, and things have gotten better over the past week, but the cat still runs for cover when she hears me unsnapping the latches on the case. The other teachers at the store see me with my clarinet and say things like "oh, good; if I have any clarinet questions, I can just ask you," which makes me smile and nod. I haven't played in the store yet, and I can't really ask any of the teachers there for suggestions because they all think that I know what I'm doing. And, of course, I do know what I'm doing. Sort of.
Mostly.
*I'm not joking about the morphine lollipop. They're green, and he sucks on them all the time. Seriously.
The Morphine-Addicted Owner pulls the morphine lollipop* out of his mouth and says, "Sounds good to me." So the studio was carved up between myself and another opportunistic counter-worker, and that was that. She took the flute students and I took the clarinets and the saxophones.
Fine. No problem. Perfect. Money, I command you to roll in.
It took about twenty minutes for me to remember that even though I assured both the Morphine-Addicted Owner and the Diminutive Education Director that I could indeed both teach and play clarinet, I've never taught it, and only took a completely failed stab at learning it one summer when I was sixteen. (One always says "yes" in interviews when asked skills questions... Can you shoot out the eye of a foreign leader with an open-sight rifle at one thousand yards? Yes, I can. And I have. Many times.) Grimly, I recalled the sounds made by beginning clarinetists that cause birds to migrate early.
Gulp.
So, long story short, I've been practicing my ass off trying to learn the fine art of the clarinet well enough to help out my new students. So far, I haven't needed to do anything more than put the clarinet together and arrogantly display it on the sax stand in my studio. I've decided that I have fourteen days (or so) to get good enough that I can both play along with and demonstrate for the students. It seems like a reasonable goal right now, and things have gotten better over the past week, but the cat still runs for cover when she hears me unsnapping the latches on the case. The other teachers at the store see me with my clarinet and say things like "oh, good; if I have any clarinet questions, I can just ask you," which makes me smile and nod. I haven't played in the store yet, and I can't really ask any of the teachers there for suggestions because they all think that I know what I'm doing. And, of course, I do know what I'm doing. Sort of.
Mostly.
*I'm not joking about the morphine lollipop. They're green, and he sucks on them all the time. Seriously.
posted by Buckwalter at 12:46 AM
3 Comments:
The cat mostly hides under the bed because the beauty of your sounds is something she cannot face. Mostly.
That summer you learned clarinet I think you tried to teach me saxaphone. Either way, I'm still a fairly hopeless musician. Best of luck with the lessons.
Oh wow... That is perfect. You must write something about the music store... maybe a comic strip??? That would be amazing!
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