Busy Saturday II: Solo Contest (everything else)
The solo portion of the day ran from about 8-3, but I had several hours of other things going on. I mentioned I got there at 7; I didn't leave Indiana until 5. So, for the rest of it...
When I got to the school, there was exactly one car in the parking lot: Mr. M's. However, just as I was gathering my things and getting out of the car, another pulled up. I thought it was Mr. C, but it ended up being Mr. D, the fourth and final judge whom I hadn't mentioned previously. I waited for him, and as he's getting out, another car comes. At first I thought he was the other main director--I never met him, I don't believe--but it ended up being Mr. M's brother, who helps out. Later in the day I discovered he helped with the tally sheets and posting of ratings. (He said that one girl got a I-P, meaning a perfect score, and the girl's family, not native English speakers, were initially confused, then excited. It was a cute story.) Brother M led us in and got us to where we needed to go. I've only ever been to this school in the summer--heck, I'd only ever been to Indiana in the summer--and I've only ever gone in one entrance, down the stairs and to the right. It was weird going in through the back and seeing the cafeteria and going up by the classrooms. Honestly, the first thing I wanted to do was use the washroom, which was conveniently next door to the conference room, which was our judges' room for the day. Except, of course, this was a students' bathroom, and little students at that, so the sinks only came to my thighs. And, being a Catholic school bathroom, half the doors and locks didn't work. The first stall I went to didn't have a latch at all. The second had a latch, but the gap between the door and the catch was too wide. Third stall? Just right. It's like the alternate version of Goldilocks.
Now, I'd had breakfast (at like 5 AM), but I still grabbed a bagel and some orange juice because I knew it would be a long day. I ended up having five meals the whole day. The others came in, and we talked, and Mr. M handed out our packets. I was confused at the rest of them scribbling furiously on their sheets until Mrs. S said they were signing them--one less thing to do when you have a roomful of people. Oh, okay. At Mr. C's, since we don't get the sheets beforehand, signing the judge's forms is the last thing I do after I've made sure I checked off a box per category. But yeah, it makes sense, except when you're slow and kids get moved. Oh well. It's fine.
Next time I'll have to keep better track of time, since we left the room pretty much at 8 and when I got to my classroom (first door on the left, so across the hall and down slightly from the conference room) the room basically was full. Unlike my room at Mr. C's contest, I'm not sure if I had a working classroom--there wasn't much up on the walls, at least one item on the wall seemed dated (like from last spring, though I can't recall what that was now), and there were a bunch of trophies on the windowsill. Oh, and because it was warm, into the 40s, icicles were dripping to the point of being distracting at times. Also, there was an air conditioner in the window, and at one point it got windy and I thought someone's dad was breathing noisily. Then I felt bad, but at least I didn't say anything.
Lunchtime was okay; there were a number of food items to choose from. I think it was brought from some of the families from the school, but we weren't entirely convinced it was all homemade. Like, the mostaccioli that was in a crock pot-type of container, that seemed homemade. But several entrees were in identical foil containers; we wondered if that was from Market Day. Not that that's a bad thing; it was just odd that they all matched in a way that truly homemade food wouldn't. Also, one item was a meatloaf, unsliced. Mr. C was at the table several yards away and could see me doing something, but he had no idea what. Well, I'm trying the meatloaf, but I don't want the whole thing. He and possibly Mr. D (who was up at the serving table with me) started joking about just taking the whole hunk of meat. Yeah, I'm good, but thanks. Oh, and my pseudo-cold was acting up, so that periodically I'd have a throat drop in my mouth. I about started coughing during a couple solos, but was able to hold it in until the kids finished. It was at lunch that I discovered Ricola and lemonade don't mix. That was not the most pleasant taste sensation ever.
I mentioned that my last group was only half as large as it should have been, so that I finished way earlier than the other judges. There were people waiting out in the hall who wondered, do we come into your room? Sorry; you're in room 4 with Mrs. S (I was in room 2). It would have been one thing had they had their judge's sheets, but without those I couldn't tell how old the students were, what they were supposed to play, etc. I'm pretty sure they were all 4th graders, though. There was this boy who was the runner, picking up judge's sheets and stuff, and he came by; I told him I had openings and could take them if Mr. M wanted me to, so perhaps he could grab Mr. M from wherever he was. Mr. M did eventually come down, but by that time Mrs. S had finished with her batch and the three kids and their families went in--but not before the one dad, who'd talked to me much of the time, had tried bribing me with $10. Sorry, guys. Don't worry, it was a joke. Also, my very last soloist in my very first group wore a Notre Dame polo shirt. Mr. M's family members have gone to various Indiana colleges, but not that one, so he joked and said if he'd been the judge, he'd have given the boy a second just for that. The boy, an 8th grade trumpet player, said it was either that or White Sox. I went, I'm from Illinois; that shirt would have been an automatic first. Oh, no! he groaned. So that was pretty funny. I also got questioned about my credentials because I looked so young. I didn't say this, but believe me, I've been a musician for almost 30 years. I have ears and can read music. That's really all you need.
Because I was done so soon, I was sort of alone in the conference room for a while. As I waited for the others to finish, this older woman came in and started to clean up. She and I got to talking and she's lived in the area for many years, and she has a son who's married and lives in California. She mentioned that there are foods here that you can't get out that way, including veal bologna. I'm only familiar with beef bologna, but she said any kid who's tried it has loved it, especially when it's sliced thin from the butcher. Interesting; I'll have to remember that. It was a nice conversation. I'm guessing she's my parents' age or a little older, so her son is probably about my age.
Mr. D left soon after he finished, but Mr. C and Mrs. S and I stuck around, waiting for Mr. M. I could have gone to my cousin's house, but I'd told her I'd likely be there around 5:30 or 6, so I figured I'd join the solo contest staff for whatever after deal they had going on this time. The three of us chatted as we waited, and Mr. C continued with stories he'd been telling about his daughter at her job; she works at a nursing home. Right now she's having to do training sessions with the nurses and there are ongoing problems with that, so he was telling us about it, and he'd also mentioned last time that it's in a Polish area and she brings him names so she can learn how to pronounce them. It's funny, because he's not Polish, but he's been around so many Polish people over the years that at this point he's honorary. I'd been wondering where this was, and Mrs. S finally asked, and he went, oh, it's in such-and-such suburb. ...Which happened to be the very same suburb in which my grandfather's rehab place was, which likely is not a large-enough town to support more than one such facility. I said, is it *name*? Is it on *street*? Yeah, pretty sure that's where his daughter works, especially since he named a specific restaurant as being right down the road, which is true. So, holy crap. You have to understand, some of what he was saying was making me think, perhaps I don't want to send any of my loved ones there--not that anything was horrifying, but part of the issue is that they're not performing tasks the way the state wants them to do things. And we understand that not everything is practical to do them that way all the time, but they can't even demonstrate the state standards. As the person having to train everyone on how to do things the state standard way, Mr. C's daughter is going bonkers--she's essentially finding out that the place that trained these workers isn't training them properly. So...yeah. Not the best situation. And it's where my grandfather just spent three and a half months. Hmm.
It was probably about 4 o'clock that everything was finished and Mr. M was about to leave. He sent the judges along ahead and told us to go to this pub, which was two blocks away on the same street as the school, but the front street. I ended up at the back of the caravan this time and I got to watch as first Mr. C, then Mrs. S turned off the street. Um...he said it was on *this* street...I looked at the street sign, and that's what the sign says...why are you turning? There's no reason to turn. It's like the tour of Griffith all over again! See, while packing up for camp several years back, Mr. C got confused and instead of going to the solo contest school, he drove to another school instead, leaving maybe a third of the bodies to do all the work. Literally, as we're closing up the truck, all the other cars pulled in. It was that moment that made me go, okay, I'm getting directions to all our typical haunts so this doesn't happen again. So, yeah, they drove the long way to the pub, but they were only a minute or so behind me.
This was the sort of place where you walk in and sit down wherever you'd like. Since we figured we'd be joined by Mr. M and his brother, we picked a place with two adjoining tables, not a booth. Mrs. S and I sat together across from Mr. C and facing the back door. I could see the specials board, and the first thing listed was chicken pot pie soup. Sold! I just wanted something light in case there wasn't any food-food at the party. There's usually plenty of sugar, but I'd never make it if all I ate there was cake. Plus, I mean, it's soup; how long could that take to get?
Yeah, so, nobody's order got taken for a long time. The waitress--who was actually pretty good, much better than the one after the last contest--waited until everyone got there to take anything but drink orders. Since I'd had all sorts of fun beverages (including lemonade *and* 7-Up at lunch), I just went with water. The brothers M came, and got menus, but again, no order. It was at least 4:30 before that happened, and while the soup didn't take all that long to come (Mr. C and Mr. M also got it), their entrees took a really long time. Like, when it got close to 5, I figured I'd better go, and I got up to use the washroom before I left. Only after I came out of the bathroom were they getting their food. I was kind of glad I wasn't getting a full-on meal because of that. At least the soup was tasty. It was just what I needed. Basically, it was pot pie filling with sort of a cracker/thick triangle of bread on top. Sort of like a pita chip, maybe, or half a pita chip since it wasn't quite that thick; it had chunky salt on top. Whatever it was, it was good, and crumbling the complimentary package of saltines on top also was a good choice.
Now, being a bit before dinnertime proper, it wasn't super-packed in there, though it started to fill up as it got later. We sat there talking, and because one of the big news stories was the measles outbreak in our area, we discussed that. Mr. C actually lives in the town at the center of the outbreak, so this could potentially be a big deal for him and his neighbors. That lead to a discussion on vaccines, and people who choose not to vaccine, and the reasoning behind it, and that led to talking about autism. Now, the thing to know about Mr. C is that he is not a quiet man and he has strong opinions on things. I'm not saying he was bellowing, but he was not keeping his voice down. Around this time Mrs. S started talking to me about a family friend whose son has autism and telling me about how his schooling has really helped him, and this and that, so we weren't paying attention to what Mr. C was saying to the Ms. However, I caught the tail end of something--essentially that schooling won't help everyone--and there's a pause in the conversation. Then, suddenly, there's a female voice behind me going, "You've GOT to be F-ing KIDDING me." We all pause--uh...was that directed at our table? Was that related to something on one of the TVs that were perched from the ceiling? It soon became clear that yes, it was directed at us--or, really, Mr. C. Because Mrs. S and I didn't entirely know what was going on, and we weren't facing that direction, we kind of just looked at the door. The woman who had yelled started talking some more, and her husband joined in, and they said that their son had autism and was helped by his teachers and they went on for several minutes about how if you don't know what you're talking about, perhaps you shouldn't say anything, and a few more profanities were tossed around. Mr. C did apologize for offending them (though later, after things had calmed down, he more quietly said to our table that he wasn't sorry he said what he did) and claimed he hadn't finished his thought. ...Yeah, the pause after he'd spoken pretty much signaled he was done, but whatever. The couple said that when you're in public, you should know better than to say certain things. It was clear he'd hit a sore spot and the couple was not going to let it go--at least until the waitress intervened. Yes, he said stuff that offended them--but the waitress said that their reaction was offending the rest of the restaurant. Two wrongs don't make a right. The waitress came over and apologized, which wasn't necessary; Mr. C said, it's not the first time I've been yelled at in public. Yeah, he doesn't give a crap. If he did, he likely wouldn't have said anything in the first place.
It wasn't long after that that I left, so I'm curious to learn what might have happened afterward. However, it was around that time that someone walked into the place and recognized Brother M, and they talked for a few minutes. It was kind of a bizarre 10-minute span there. Shortly after he walked away, the waitress came by with two tokens and told Brother M, the young man bought you two beers! Well, all righty then. At least the whole experience wasn't all bad.
Soon to come: Part 3 of my long-ass Saturday--tattoo, Clue, and a hissy fit, too.
When I got to the school, there was exactly one car in the parking lot: Mr. M's. However, just as I was gathering my things and getting out of the car, another pulled up. I thought it was Mr. C, but it ended up being Mr. D, the fourth and final judge whom I hadn't mentioned previously. I waited for him, and as he's getting out, another car comes. At first I thought he was the other main director--I never met him, I don't believe--but it ended up being Mr. M's brother, who helps out. Later in the day I discovered he helped with the tally sheets and posting of ratings. (He said that one girl got a I-P, meaning a perfect score, and the girl's family, not native English speakers, were initially confused, then excited. It was a cute story.) Brother M led us in and got us to where we needed to go. I've only ever been to this school in the summer--heck, I'd only ever been to Indiana in the summer--and I've only ever gone in one entrance, down the stairs and to the right. It was weird going in through the back and seeing the cafeteria and going up by the classrooms. Honestly, the first thing I wanted to do was use the washroom, which was conveniently next door to the conference room, which was our judges' room for the day. Except, of course, this was a students' bathroom, and little students at that, so the sinks only came to my thighs. And, being a Catholic school bathroom, half the doors and locks didn't work. The first stall I went to didn't have a latch at all. The second had a latch, but the gap between the door and the catch was too wide. Third stall? Just right. It's like the alternate version of Goldilocks.
Now, I'd had breakfast (at like 5 AM), but I still grabbed a bagel and some orange juice because I knew it would be a long day. I ended up having five meals the whole day. The others came in, and we talked, and Mr. M handed out our packets. I was confused at the rest of them scribbling furiously on their sheets until Mrs. S said they were signing them--one less thing to do when you have a roomful of people. Oh, okay. At Mr. C's, since we don't get the sheets beforehand, signing the judge's forms is the last thing I do after I've made sure I checked off a box per category. But yeah, it makes sense, except when you're slow and kids get moved. Oh well. It's fine.
Next time I'll have to keep better track of time, since we left the room pretty much at 8 and when I got to my classroom (first door on the left, so across the hall and down slightly from the conference room) the room basically was full. Unlike my room at Mr. C's contest, I'm not sure if I had a working classroom--there wasn't much up on the walls, at least one item on the wall seemed dated (like from last spring, though I can't recall what that was now), and there were a bunch of trophies on the windowsill. Oh, and because it was warm, into the 40s, icicles were dripping to the point of being distracting at times. Also, there was an air conditioner in the window, and at one point it got windy and I thought someone's dad was breathing noisily. Then I felt bad, but at least I didn't say anything.
Lunchtime was okay; there were a number of food items to choose from. I think it was brought from some of the families from the school, but we weren't entirely convinced it was all homemade. Like, the mostaccioli that was in a crock pot-type of container, that seemed homemade. But several entrees were in identical foil containers; we wondered if that was from Market Day. Not that that's a bad thing; it was just odd that they all matched in a way that truly homemade food wouldn't. Also, one item was a meatloaf, unsliced. Mr. C was at the table several yards away and could see me doing something, but he had no idea what. Well, I'm trying the meatloaf, but I don't want the whole thing. He and possibly Mr. D (who was up at the serving table with me) started joking about just taking the whole hunk of meat. Yeah, I'm good, but thanks. Oh, and my pseudo-cold was acting up, so that periodically I'd have a throat drop in my mouth. I about started coughing during a couple solos, but was able to hold it in until the kids finished. It was at lunch that I discovered Ricola and lemonade don't mix. That was not the most pleasant taste sensation ever.
I mentioned that my last group was only half as large as it should have been, so that I finished way earlier than the other judges. There were people waiting out in the hall who wondered, do we come into your room? Sorry; you're in room 4 with Mrs. S (I was in room 2). It would have been one thing had they had their judge's sheets, but without those I couldn't tell how old the students were, what they were supposed to play, etc. I'm pretty sure they were all 4th graders, though. There was this boy who was the runner, picking up judge's sheets and stuff, and he came by; I told him I had openings and could take them if Mr. M wanted me to, so perhaps he could grab Mr. M from wherever he was. Mr. M did eventually come down, but by that time Mrs. S had finished with her batch and the three kids and their families went in--but not before the one dad, who'd talked to me much of the time, had tried bribing me with $10. Sorry, guys. Don't worry, it was a joke. Also, my very last soloist in my very first group wore a Notre Dame polo shirt. Mr. M's family members have gone to various Indiana colleges, but not that one, so he joked and said if he'd been the judge, he'd have given the boy a second just for that. The boy, an 8th grade trumpet player, said it was either that or White Sox. I went, I'm from Illinois; that shirt would have been an automatic first. Oh, no! he groaned. So that was pretty funny. I also got questioned about my credentials because I looked so young. I didn't say this, but believe me, I've been a musician for almost 30 years. I have ears and can read music. That's really all you need.
Because I was done so soon, I was sort of alone in the conference room for a while. As I waited for the others to finish, this older woman came in and started to clean up. She and I got to talking and she's lived in the area for many years, and she has a son who's married and lives in California. She mentioned that there are foods here that you can't get out that way, including veal bologna. I'm only familiar with beef bologna, but she said any kid who's tried it has loved it, especially when it's sliced thin from the butcher. Interesting; I'll have to remember that. It was a nice conversation. I'm guessing she's my parents' age or a little older, so her son is probably about my age.
Mr. D left soon after he finished, but Mr. C and Mrs. S and I stuck around, waiting for Mr. M. I could have gone to my cousin's house, but I'd told her I'd likely be there around 5:30 or 6, so I figured I'd join the solo contest staff for whatever after deal they had going on this time. The three of us chatted as we waited, and Mr. C continued with stories he'd been telling about his daughter at her job; she works at a nursing home. Right now she's having to do training sessions with the nurses and there are ongoing problems with that, so he was telling us about it, and he'd also mentioned last time that it's in a Polish area and she brings him names so she can learn how to pronounce them. It's funny, because he's not Polish, but he's been around so many Polish people over the years that at this point he's honorary. I'd been wondering where this was, and Mrs. S finally asked, and he went, oh, it's in such-and-such suburb. ...Which happened to be the very same suburb in which my grandfather's rehab place was, which likely is not a large-enough town to support more than one such facility. I said, is it *name*? Is it on *street*? Yeah, pretty sure that's where his daughter works, especially since he named a specific restaurant as being right down the road, which is true. So, holy crap. You have to understand, some of what he was saying was making me think, perhaps I don't want to send any of my loved ones there--not that anything was horrifying, but part of the issue is that they're not performing tasks the way the state wants them to do things. And we understand that not everything is practical to do them that way all the time, but they can't even demonstrate the state standards. As the person having to train everyone on how to do things the state standard way, Mr. C's daughter is going bonkers--she's essentially finding out that the place that trained these workers isn't training them properly. So...yeah. Not the best situation. And it's where my grandfather just spent three and a half months. Hmm.
It was probably about 4 o'clock that everything was finished and Mr. M was about to leave. He sent the judges along ahead and told us to go to this pub, which was two blocks away on the same street as the school, but the front street. I ended up at the back of the caravan this time and I got to watch as first Mr. C, then Mrs. S turned off the street. Um...he said it was on *this* street...I looked at the street sign, and that's what the sign says...why are you turning? There's no reason to turn. It's like the tour of Griffith all over again! See, while packing up for camp several years back, Mr. C got confused and instead of going to the solo contest school, he drove to another school instead, leaving maybe a third of the bodies to do all the work. Literally, as we're closing up the truck, all the other cars pulled in. It was that moment that made me go, okay, I'm getting directions to all our typical haunts so this doesn't happen again. So, yeah, they drove the long way to the pub, but they were only a minute or so behind me.
This was the sort of place where you walk in and sit down wherever you'd like. Since we figured we'd be joined by Mr. M and his brother, we picked a place with two adjoining tables, not a booth. Mrs. S and I sat together across from Mr. C and facing the back door. I could see the specials board, and the first thing listed was chicken pot pie soup. Sold! I just wanted something light in case there wasn't any food-food at the party. There's usually plenty of sugar, but I'd never make it if all I ate there was cake. Plus, I mean, it's soup; how long could that take to get?
Yeah, so, nobody's order got taken for a long time. The waitress--who was actually pretty good, much better than the one after the last contest--waited until everyone got there to take anything but drink orders. Since I'd had all sorts of fun beverages (including lemonade *and* 7-Up at lunch), I just went with water. The brothers M came, and got menus, but again, no order. It was at least 4:30 before that happened, and while the soup didn't take all that long to come (Mr. C and Mr. M also got it), their entrees took a really long time. Like, when it got close to 5, I figured I'd better go, and I got up to use the washroom before I left. Only after I came out of the bathroom were they getting their food. I was kind of glad I wasn't getting a full-on meal because of that. At least the soup was tasty. It was just what I needed. Basically, it was pot pie filling with sort of a cracker/thick triangle of bread on top. Sort of like a pita chip, maybe, or half a pita chip since it wasn't quite that thick; it had chunky salt on top. Whatever it was, it was good, and crumbling the complimentary package of saltines on top also was a good choice.
Now, being a bit before dinnertime proper, it wasn't super-packed in there, though it started to fill up as it got later. We sat there talking, and because one of the big news stories was the measles outbreak in our area, we discussed that. Mr. C actually lives in the town at the center of the outbreak, so this could potentially be a big deal for him and his neighbors. That lead to a discussion on vaccines, and people who choose not to vaccine, and the reasoning behind it, and that led to talking about autism. Now, the thing to know about Mr. C is that he is not a quiet man and he has strong opinions on things. I'm not saying he was bellowing, but he was not keeping his voice down. Around this time Mrs. S started talking to me about a family friend whose son has autism and telling me about how his schooling has really helped him, and this and that, so we weren't paying attention to what Mr. C was saying to the Ms. However, I caught the tail end of something--essentially that schooling won't help everyone--and there's a pause in the conversation. Then, suddenly, there's a female voice behind me going, "You've GOT to be F-ing KIDDING me." We all pause--uh...was that directed at our table? Was that related to something on one of the TVs that were perched from the ceiling? It soon became clear that yes, it was directed at us--or, really, Mr. C. Because Mrs. S and I didn't entirely know what was going on, and we weren't facing that direction, we kind of just looked at the door. The woman who had yelled started talking some more, and her husband joined in, and they said that their son had autism and was helped by his teachers and they went on for several minutes about how if you don't know what you're talking about, perhaps you shouldn't say anything, and a few more profanities were tossed around. Mr. C did apologize for offending them (though later, after things had calmed down, he more quietly said to our table that he wasn't sorry he said what he did) and claimed he hadn't finished his thought. ...Yeah, the pause after he'd spoken pretty much signaled he was done, but whatever. The couple said that when you're in public, you should know better than to say certain things. It was clear he'd hit a sore spot and the couple was not going to let it go--at least until the waitress intervened. Yes, he said stuff that offended them--but the waitress said that their reaction was offending the rest of the restaurant. Two wrongs don't make a right. The waitress came over and apologized, which wasn't necessary; Mr. C said, it's not the first time I've been yelled at in public. Yeah, he doesn't give a crap. If he did, he likely wouldn't have said anything in the first place.
It wasn't long after that that I left, so I'm curious to learn what might have happened afterward. However, it was around that time that someone walked into the place and recognized Brother M, and they talked for a few minutes. It was kind of a bizarre 10-minute span there. Shortly after he walked away, the waitress came by with two tokens and told Brother M, the young man bought you two beers! Well, all righty then. At least the whole experience wasn't all bad.
Soon to come: Part 3 of my long-ass Saturday--tattoo, Clue, and a hissy fit, too.