Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Spring. 1991. My college band director decides it's a fantastic idea for University of Kentucky's entire marching band to sit on stage and bore the audience with all half time show music from our always losing football season.
Me. Sick. Flu. Don't need to elaborate much more than I was really really sick with an awful stomach bug. But as a musician? Unless you're on your deathbed...and I mean...hospitalized...IV's...the works? You don't call in sick to a concert. Period.
So imagine me in my god awful band uniform. Barely able to stand I feel so weak and sick. I'm sitting in the front row with all the other piccolo players. The entire marching band seated behind us.
Stage curtains were closed but we could hear our eager audience filing into the auditorium. Getting settled. Busy, but quiet.
That's when a huge bubble landed in my GI tract. Bubble. You know? "That" I mean. I could have died in pain or just tight cheek it as I let out a little air...No one will know. Tiny bit. Ok, that's better.
Until I quickly realized I released the gastric equivalent of plutonium. The piccolo player seated next to me was a loud partying sorta gal. She literally caught wind of my situation. Sat straight up in her chair in complete astonishment and screams:
"WHO THE FUCK LEFT THE GIANT TURD ON STAGE?!!!"
Can you even fathom how embarrassed I was? But I had to play it off. Didn't know whether to laugh (might get fingered as 'the perpetrator') or chime in.
I chimed in. Yelled with her. Went full hog so to speak...really said with gusto "YEAH! SMELLY FUCKER! GET OFF STAGE! Gotta be the TUBA section!!!"
Glad she didn't think to look to her left and see a red faced flutist. REALLY good thing no one was close to my back pant seam. It was steaming.