big girl now

So I know I’ve been a horribly delinquent blogger. I blame it on John Brown, the opera I was busy premiering. Hehehe. It was a blast. Way fun to play with my husband and the music was pleasant! Always a bonus. You never know what you’re gonna get when it comes to new music.

But the real reason I write about the opera tonight is to tell you a story of a nonmusical growing experience I was offered during my stay in the orchestra pit. Now I’m sure you’ve never even taken time to ponder this but orchestra people are very particular about the temperature. VERY. It’s even in their contract–the acceptable temperature range in which the orchestra will perform. And since you’re all dying to know, I’ve dug out Brian’s contract to let you know: In regards to indoor venues, the musicians cannot be required to perform if the temperature is less than 68 degrees or more than 80. Yes this is important to my story.

In order to combat the mysteriously uneven temperatures and draftiness of the pit, small space heaters are sometimes placed next to various chairs in the orchestra in efforts to make it warmer and more comfortable. There happened to a heater next to me all the time, not aimed directly at me, but heat coming off the sides definitely making me warmer. On one particular night of a dress rehearsal I found myself warm, sweating practically, with the heater turned on right next me. After over 2 hours of plentiful warmth, during the last break, I kindly asked one of the two musicians sitting in front me, where the heater was pointed, if she was warm enough. “Yes I’m fine, you can turn it off if it’s bothering you.”

Well this heater seems archaic and while I turned the knob to off, I distrusted it was actually off because this long light stays glowing orange even when it’s “off.” So, knowing it was not needed anymore, I unplugged it just to reassure my body no more sweating was needed. About halfway into the last Act, I did feel a bit of a draft but I knew it was still plenty warm in the pit. The thermometer near me (yes they keep multiple thermometers wherever they play) said 72 degrees. A few moments later, the other main person the heater had been pointed at turned around, looked at the heater, and turned it back on. My stomach sank. A few minutes later he turned back around. Once he realized someone had unplugged the heater he gave the most hateful glare. Yikes. I didn’t know what to do. I just sat there and kept playing my part. A few minutes later he started getting up out of his chair very angrily. I said, “It’s okay, I’ll take care of it.” “NO! I’ll TAKE CARE OF IT!” And he snatched the heater, took it back closer to him and plugged it into the socket nearest him. (There are sockets all along the floor to plug our stand lights into.) Oh my gosh I’m sure I was all shades of red by then. He had made a big scene and while I’m sure some of the musicians around me didn’t really understand what had just taken place, it was clear that I was sitting closest to the scandalously unplugged heater.

There’s not much I hate more than to make someone else upset/mad.

but in the same breath I tell you, I hate (won’t?/have never been good at) apologizing when I don’t believe I’m in the wrong.

As my stomach churned in agony of my faulty decision to unplug the sacred archaic heater, ‘well she said I could turn it off...so what if I unplugged it...it’s still 72 freakin degrees in here, why did he get so blazing mad?! What a rediculous overreaction!’ I was just dreading the end of the rehearsal. What would happen? It sounds silly now in retrospect but he seemed so mad I thought he might do bodily harm to me...or steal my mute (so I took it home that night). Really I mean he was SO MAD.

Here I was, a lowly, substitute horn player, feeling so unworthy to be playing with these people, and then I go and mess up! That night I made a dash for the exit, but not before I heard the other musician say to the angry one, “Well I told her she could turn it off but I didn’t think she would unplug it!!” in a golly-what-an-idiot-she-is- tone of voice. All night I was really troubled by this. Blame it on my overbearing/overreacting father, but I really don’t like upsetting people. And all the next morning and afternoon I kept dwelling on the sequence of events from the night before. Then it occurred to me. I have to apologize.....APOLOGIZE? I don’t apologize! He shouldn’t have treated me that way. He should be the one apologizing. Alas I consigned myself to do the big girl thing and all afternoon I went over and over what I would say in my mind. So that evening, before rehearsal I said, “About last night, I’m really sorry. I never meant to upset you. I won’t do it again...” And before I could say the rest of my prepared words, he said, “Oh don’t worry about it. No big deal.” And just as quickly as the drama had ensued the previous night, it was gone. I guess overreactors are also get-over-its-quicklys? Sheesh. I can’t handle the anger though. I’m so happy I didn’t marry an angry man!!!

Anyway, thanks for sticking it out on my long story of how I’m a big girl now! Woo! Apology when I wasn’t (totally) in the wrong? Check!